


Still Shining, Like Lightning

by Lookafterlou1234



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Zayn Malik as a trendy designer with a HOPELESS crush, and Liam Payne as a meddling roommate, featuring Niall Horan as a beautiful deaf model, the Notting Hill AU nobody asked for, with the worst housecat in the world
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-04-22 11:36:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 40,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4833878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lookafterlou1234/pseuds/Lookafterlou1234
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Harry Styles is a half British, half French superstar, beloved by the entire world. And Louis Tomlinson is a former foster kid who owns a gently used bookstore/coffeeshop and can't speak French to save his life. He does know the title of every movie Harry Styles has ever starred in though. And most of the lines. </p><p>(All of the lines. Louis knows all of the lines). </p><p>What will happen when Harry wanders into Louis' shop one day, and turns his carefully structured world on it's head? Can Louis adapt to the flashing lights that follow Harry everywhere? Can Harry forget his troubled past and embrace the comforting normalcy Louis brings him? And most importantly, can two people fall in love with the whole world watching?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from "Carmen" by Lana Del Ray :)

"Spike, I'm going to wring your _bloody_ neck, then skin you alive, and wear your goddamn skin as a fucking _cape_!!!" Louis seethed, giving the bright orange mongrel a shake. Spike fixated Louis with a baleful green stare, flattening his ears backwards. Louis hurriedly let go of the cat: he'd felt those claws too many times to risk it. The latest victim of Spike's claws, a copy of _The Return of the King_ , lied in tatters at Louis' feet. 

You could say Louis was having a bad day. You could even say that on the scale from one to Shittiest Day Ever, his day was a strong 9.78. However, this day from Hell had started out normally enough. Louis woke up at the crack of bloody dawn, shoved the cat off his pillow (Spike wasn't even really Louis': that beast was his roommate's charity case), and then hopped out of bed, heading down to the shop to get ready for the day. But then he discovered that they were out of coffee. 

To most rational adults, being out of coffee is a tragedy in itself. But when you run a _coffeeshop_ , and basically the only money you earn daily is between 5:00-6:30 AM, that shit becomes Romeo and Juliet level tragedy. So Louis sprinted to the nearest corner store in his pajamas and slippers, bought the first tin of coffee grinds he could find, and then arrived back at the shop to find Spike shredding his claws through a book. A hardback book, which their run-by-donation bookstore was always in desperate need of. 

"Oi, don't talk to my pet like that." a tired voice said, accompanied by the clopping of feet against floorboards. Looking up, Louis saw his roomate, Liam, walking down the wooden steps that lead down from their flat to the store. He was already fully dressed, wearing a smart green blazer and neatly pressed black pants. The contrast between Louis and himself couldn't be more clear. He needed to get dressed before customers started arriving, oh fucking hell-  
"Pet." Louis said as Liam took the cat from Louis, scratching underneath his chin. Spike purred loudly and butted his orange head against Liam's palm. "Spawn of Satan, more like."  
"Spike's just a bundle of fur and love." Liam crooned, his voice getting softer as he literally cradled the feline like a baby, and Louis rolled his eyes. Kind-hearted Liam.  
"He's a freeloader!" Louis explained incredulously, reaching down and picked up the destroyed novel. "We found him here when we bought the place, and he never left."  
"He was a kitten abandoned by his mother, curled up under a floorboard to hide from the rain that was coming in through the hole in the ceiling. Forgive me for being unable to toss him aside." Liam said with a wry grin. And okay, yeah, maybe that made sense. Louis still remembered the pathetic mewling, and with Liam being the homemaker that he was, he understood the need to adopt Spike.

"Okay, well, gimme the _pet_ , I'll take him back upstairs and get myself dressed. Can you put the coffee on and get a couple cups ready?" Louis said beseechingly as Spike was handed back over to him and he headed towards the stairs. "We won't have time to make anything fancy today, like that pumpkin cinnamon shit people love to drink in autumn. Literally, it's just straight up coffee today, but that's all anybody wants at this hour anyway."  
"Yeah, it's fine." Liam said soothingly, reaching forward and picking up the hardback as Louis started back up the stairs. "I'll just put this behind the counter, maybe we can doctor it up later....oh, it's a _A Lord of the Rings_ too, pity-" 

Louis scrambled up the stairs then, hauling open the rickety door and tossing Spike to the ground (But if Liam asks, he gently placed him on all four paws. Cats are supposed to land on their feet anyway). He then rushed down the corridor into his shoebox of a bedroom. Nearly tripping over discarded clothes on the floor, Louis went to his closet and grabbed the first outfit he saw: jeans with accidental holes and a blue sweater that only had a stain on the left cuff. He definitely wasn't dressed as professionally as Liam, but this was as good as it was gonna get this morning. 

Louis strode over to his bedside table and scrabbled to pick up a comb, going to the cracked mirror hanging on his wall and giving his hair a quick brush down. If he had the time, he'd get some gel and style it into a quiff, but he didn't, so it'd have to be a floppy fringe today. Glancing at his reflection, he aimed for a winning smile, pesky crinkles appearing in the corners of his blue eyes. He kinda needed a shave, dark stubble dotting his chin and cheeks, but he'd do. Hopefully he wouldn't scare any customers away with his appearance. And who was Louis even kidding? Nobody would be coming into his store today. Nobody really came into his store in general, excluding the few regulars and the odd university student desperate for caffeine. 

_Grounds For Thought_ was eighteen year old Louis' brainchild: a time in his life in which he thought " _hey, let's invest all the money I have into this ramshackle shop, fix it up, and turn it into a bookstore. And it'll have coffee too, because who doesn't love to drink a cuppa while they're reading? And hey, let's get my best friend involved too! We'll work in the shop during the day, go to community college in the evenings, and save money the entire time! It'll be great!_ " 

A year later, with few customers, accumulating debts, and an ever-rising mortgage that they could already barely afford, nineteen year old Louis was slightly panicked. It seemed his brilliant plan was not so brilliant. Making the flat upstairs livable had proved to be a Herculean project, taking three full months and way more money than either Louis or Liam anticipated. By the time that was complete, they barely had enough funds to stock the barren shelves of their bookstore. Louis' grand dreams of a quaint little bookshop with a Starbucks-esque feel had been reduced to eight bookcases, full of novels they'd picked up at garage sales or closing-down libraries, and a "cafe" area that consisted of a counter with four stools, facing a single coffee machine. The books all had previous owner's names, naughty jokes, or doodles scribbled in them, the coffee was too strong (Louis always used too much), and if asked, he could probably recite the names of the people who visited _Grounds_ on a regular basis. 

(He didn't even need to be asked: there were two regulars, named Mallory Davis and Zayn Malik. Mallory was an eighty-year old woman, obsessed with books and bargains, and Zayn was a local graphic designer who had a painfully obvious, _massive_ crush on Liam and bought countless trashy romance novels as an excuse to talk to him. Wasn't Louis so lucky? To get to witness _that_ almost daily?) 

But as shitty and unprofitable as his shop was, Louis couldn't help but adore it. 

Louis loved the dusty windows and creaky bookshelves. He loved the pastel blue paint they'd chosen for the outside, to blend in with the surrounding pastel buildings, and the faded green rugs he picked up at a Salvation Army to cover the squeaky floorboards. He loved the bustling streets of Notting Hill outside: how different stalls sprung up every Saturday, selling various merchandise and stealing whatever business they might've gotten that day. Louis loved that his only co-worker was his best friend, his brother by circumstance, which was a bond stronger than blood. Or, at least in Louis' experience. 

He loved the smell of coffee beans that permeated the air inside, and that he memorized his regulars' orders. (Mallory: plain coffee with two sugars and a dash of milk. Zayn: a pumpkin spice latte). He loved that occasionally, people came inside, perused the shelves, and then, finally, _beautifully_ , found a book they wanted. Louis even begrudgingly loved the orange cat hairs he found all over the place. Louis loved everything about his shop because it was home. _His_ home. The home of him, Liam, and whoever happened to wander inside that day. A home that Louis prayed would someday be home to other people. 

So Louis looked in his mirror one last time, forced a bright smile, and tried to remember everything he loved about doing this. 

"Right!" the nineteen year old said to himself briskly, clapping his hands together. "I've gotta write something on the chalkboard outside, to attract passerby. What would work better: _Treat Your Shelves_ or _Better Read Than Dead_? Maybe neither of those, it could do with being funnier..." 

 

***

A few hours later, Louis sat behind the counter of the cafe, struggling to stay awake. There'd been the early morning rush, with maybe a dozen (!!!!) people coming into _Grounds for Thought_ and numbly flinging money his way, in exchange for boiling hot cups of coffee. Nobody even seemed to care that coffee was literally all that was on offer, and as Louis sat there with his eyes sliding shut, he saw where they were coming from. He was exhausted: his night classes had gone late last night, when his Psychology professor went on a tangent about Sigmund Freud. Louis didn't even want to be a goddamn psychologist: he only took the class because it was mandatory. (Granted, Louis didn't exactly know what he wanted to do, either). 

On the other side of the store, Liam was somehow as chipper as ever, despite having stayed up as late as Louis last night. There was a reason he manned the book side of things, the area of the shop where customers actually wanted and cared about your opinion. Louis was fairly sure Liam had read all the books in _Grounds_ at least once. Liam sat behind the cash register, studying the battered book his cat had destroyed. In front of him was sellotape, Crazy Glue, and a stapler. 

Louis was sure this would end wonderfully. Like with a trip to the emergency room to unglue Liam's palms from one another. 

"Honestly, don't even bother, mate." Louis said, stifling a large yawn behind his hand. "We can just chuck it. It's not like it's a first edition Tolkien or anything."  
"I'd have to join you in killing Spike, if it was." Liam replied with a light laugh. "Considering that's probably worth more than our entire premise. But I still wanna fix it. The cover's definitely salvageable, and anyway, there's so many pages in all these books, will anyone notice if a few are missing?"  
Before Louis could remind Liam that die-hard fans of Tolkien would probably notice a single Elvish word being mistranslated, the bell on the top of the door jangled. And considering the coffee rush was over, and that Mallory came without fail at 5:00 PM, that meant it was-  
"Zayn!" Liam said cheerily, hopping off his stool behind the register. "Nice to see you again!" 

As Louis appraised the graphic designer standing in the middle of the shop, he had to agree. Louis wasn't necessarily attracted to Zayn, but he couldn't deny that the bloke was quite....aesthetically pleasing. Maybe it was something to do with being in design: designers all seemed hot as fuck. Whatever it was, Zayn Malik had it. Today, he wore all black: skinny jeans that looked like they'd been spray painted onto his thin legs, and a woolen turtle neck. A leather satchel rested against his hip, the strap crossing his chest, and black glasses with thick frames were perched on his nose. Behind the lenses were soulful brown eyes, framed by long lashes that girls would kill for. And as he looked at Liam, Zayn's mouth was stretched into a timid smile, the faintest trace of a blush grazing his tanned cheeks. 

"Hello." Zayn said quietly, fiddling with the zipper of his satchel. "How're you this morning?"  
"I'm doing well!" Liam said brightly, sending a grin Zayn's way. The designer blinked a few times, looking slightly stunned by Liam's ten-watt beam. Louis had seen the expression many times before. Liam could be overly enthusiastic sometimes, as an attempt to make people like him at first glance, and customers occasionally got confused about why somebody was so invigorated about being at work. However, considering that Zayn had liked Liam basically at first glance, Louis figured Zayn's amazement was that Liam directed that smile at _him_. 

"That's good!" Zayn responded, his tone kinda strangled. "I'm glad you're good, umm...yeah, that's wonderful!"  
"You're turning into quite the bookworm." Liam said, leaning back against the counter and surreptitiously hiding the destroyed book behind his torso. Atta boy, Payno, keeping up appearances. "You've bought a different book every day this week."  
"They're- they're affordable." Zayn stammered, sounding somewhat panicked in case Liam had figured why he kept coming here. Which, if it was anyone else, Louis would've said that they knew exactly why Zayn haunted this place like a sexy ghost. But it was Liam, and he was blissfully oblivious. "Very affordable...and I've got younger sisters who love to read, so-" 

Zayn gave an awkward shrug, lifting his slim shoulders up, and he glanced at his feet, shuffling them from side to side. Liam nodded understandingly, even though he didn't have baby sisters. Pushing his thoughts away, Louis decided to help end Zayn's misery. He kept shifting his weight back and forth, glancing at Liam every so often. It looked like he wanted to say something, anything, to keep Liam talking as long as possible, but he just didn't know how. Louis stifled a chuckle at the sight, wondering if Liam was ever gonna figure this one out. 

"Zayn is just addicted to pumpkin spice." Louis interjected at last, leaning his body over the coffee counter. "Isn't that right, Z?"  
"Yes!" Zayn said with obvious relief, whirling around and clasping the strap of his satchel in his fist. "Yes, that's exactly right. Could I have one, actually? And then I'll take a look at the books while I wait, and then head to work."  
"It's just straight up coffee today, sorry mate." Louis said with a wince, kicking himself for not remembering to pick up at least one packet of pumpkin mix. (He had to keep one of his two regulars happy, for Christ's sake).  
"That's fine!" Zayn replied with a hurried nod, his glasses sliding down his nose. "I'll just glance at the shelves-"  
"Yeah, Li, why don't you go with him?" Louis said, glancing at his coworker. "We've got a couple new Nicholas Sparks in a few days ago. Well, as new as _Grounds_ gets, anyway."  
"Sure!" Liam said compliantly, raising up the barrier of his counter and stepping out from behind it, closing it with a fluid movement of his hip. Louis could hear Zayn gulp from where he stood. "I'll show you where they are, Zayn! I didn't know you were a Sparks fan!"  
"I- uh- I'm not." Zayn said, fumbling for the words.  
"Ahh, your girlfriend, I suppose?"  
"Not- not exactly. My older sister- her name's Doniya, uh-" 

They were soon out of earshot of Louis, who finally allowed himself a laugh. He shook his head, grabbing a fresh china mug and pouring some strong black coffee into it. He grabbed a napkin and tucked it into the handle, considering writing Liam's number on it and really ending Zayn's misery. But with Louis' luck, Zayn would think it was Louis' own number, and then feel too uncomfortable to ever return to their store, and that wouldn't be any help whatsoever. Sure Louis played devil's advocate some times- i.e. purposefully causing Zayn and Liam to be alone together- but he wasn't insane. 

Louis set the mug on the countertop, letting it cool and wait for Zayn. He settled back into his seat, resting his head on his forearms and shutting his eyes. His body sank down against the counter with relief, his tense muscles relaxing. Figuring that Liam and Zayn would be kept busy for awhile, with Zayn's inept flirting attempts, Louis decided to let himself have a bit of a snooze. Fuck Sigmund Freud and all he stood for: he'd completely thrown off Louis' sleep schedule. 

But no sooner had Louis nodded off into an uneasy rest, then the bell at the front door clanged. Blinking awake with a start, he jerked his body backwards to sit up, nearly tumbling off the stool in the process. He forced a smile at the customer in front of him, a teenage boy with shoulder length black hair and bad acne.  
"Hey, mate!" he said in a tone he hoped was friendly. "What's up? Looking for a book?"  
"I actually just wondered if you've got a loo I could use. This was the only place that didn't look too busy." 

_You love your job you love your job you love your job. Don't punch the fucking kid in the face_. Louis thought to himself grimly. _Especially because of his spots. You fucking love your job_. 

***

 

"If I get one more _fucking_ person asking to use the _fucking_ non-existent toliet inside this _fucking_ shop, I'm going to blow ten _fucking_ gaskets." 

It was just past noon. Louis, Liam, and Zayn, who seemed to have forsaken his own work entirely that morning, were all seated around the coffee counter. They'd passed the time chatting, eating biscuits that Liam brought down from the upstairs pantry, or sliding packets of sugar between two straw goalposts: (Louis was totally winning, by the way). But every so often, that bell would chime, and Liam or Louis would have to inform yet another person with a weak bladder that no, _Grounds for Thought_ did not have a restroom. Sure, there was one upstairs in the flat, but neither Lou or Liam were good enough humans beings to offer up their home for use. 

"Well, you could blow ten gaskets." Liam said reflectively, dumping another packet of Splenda into his mug. "Or you could blow ten different things and you- plus ten other people- would have a lot more fun."  
Louis snorted into his cup of coffee, feeling a laugh build up in his belly and spill over. Across from him, Zayn choked on the hunk of biscuit in his mouth, looking alarmed. He coughed uselessly into his elbow to dislodge it, and Liam gently thumped him on the back, looking concerned. His thick brown eyebrows were furrowed, a crease in between them, and he bit his lower lip between his teeth.  
"Alright, man?" Liam asked, keeping his hand on Zayn's shoulder as he quieted down. Louis knew Liam was just trying to be helpful, but really, the designer looked like he'd rather be choking than have to handle Liam touching him.  
" 'M good!" Zayn said, his voice too high as a blush stained his cheeks pink. "All good! Perfect!"  
"Okay." Liam said slowly. "If you're sure...I could get you a bottle of water-"  
"Oh Lord, don't!" Louis half shrieked, deciding to intervene before Zayn choked again, purposefully this time. "Then he'll need the loo as well! And I'll be forced to hate him as much I now hate the others who asked. Which would really be a shame, as Zayn is one of my favorite customers ever. This day has been such shit so far: don't add despising Mr. Malik here to the list."  
"I know what I'm in for later." Liam said, shaking his head with a small laugh. "Because your day has been shit, (which honestly, I should find offensive, since every moment of it has been spent with me), it'll be a night with me, you, and _ton amour_."

Louis felt his eyes widen, his mouth falling open slightly as he looked at his roommate. Liam winked at him, grinning triumphantly because he knew he'd guessed Louis' plans for the rest of the evening, as soon as work was over. And Zayn was looking between the two of them with curiosity and some apprehension. Probably because he thought Louis was planning a threesome for tonight, which couldn't be further from the truth, for many reasons. One being that Louis got no action whatsoever. (His one and only sexual encounter was when he was sixteen, with a boy two years older than him who had no fucking idea what he was doing. The entire experience had been anticlimactic, unmagical, and kinda traumatic, considering Louis woke up the following morning alone). 

And oh yeah, the other reason was that Louis' actual plans for tonight were to watch a film. Possibly multiple films, depending on how shit he felt. Liam had been apart of his life long enough to know Louis' coping mechanisms. Which, clearly, didn't stop him from teasing him about them. 

" _Ton amour_?" Zayn wondered aloud. "That's 'your love' in French, right?"  
"Uh huh." Louis said tensly, his eyes fixed on the scratched surface of the counter. "It is."  
"Are you dating a French person?" Zayn asked, resting his chin on his palm. His elbow slipped forward and knocked against Liam's, but he didn't even react, which meant he was pretty damn interested in Louis' response. Which was also pretty damn embarrassing, considering what his response would have to be.  
"He wishes!" Liam said with a chuckle, his eyes dancing mischeviously. "You'd love to date this particular French person, wouldn't ya, Lou?"  
"That's not possible." Louis mumbled, feeling a blush begin to crawl it's way up his neck. Fuckin' Liam. Beside him, Zayn frowned, sliding his glasses off his face and using them to push his hair back.  
"Why can't you be together?" he said sadly, and oh fucking hell, Zayn now thought Louis was a victim of star-crossed love. Louis felt the blush spread to his cheeks, making his skin heat up. Liam was giggling behind his hand, while Zayn looked like somebody had shot his puppy. Louis covered his face with his hands quickly, taking a deep breath.  
"It's Harry Styles." he blurted out. 

The room went totally silent, Liam managing to stop his laughter for at least five seconds. Zayn stared at Louis, and he quickly glanced back at him, expecting to see judgement on the graphic designer's face. But to his surprise, Zayn looked utterly gobsmacked.  
"You know Harry Styles?" he said incredulously, his eyebrows rising to his hairline. "Like, _the_ Harry Styles?" 

Louis swore that if Liam laughed any harder, he'd fall off his stool. Liam clapped his hands together with glee, looking overjoyed by Zayn's response. Louis shook his head foolishly, wondering how this situation had arisen so quickly.  
"No, I don't." he said, trying to be patient. "Liam was just making fun of me, the dickhead. I- I enjoy his performances as an actor, and Liam enjoys saying I'm in love with the bloke, because of that."  
"Louis has an obsession." Liam cut in, looking at Zayn with his face full of mirth. "Every single Styles movie is organized alphabetically in our cabinet upstairs. I'm pretty sure my hand would get shanked off if I ever touch one. And he knows like...all the lines. I look over at him when we're watching one of his films, and he's mouthing them along with Harry."  
"That happened once!!!" Louis protested as Zayn started to laugh quietly, pressing his lips together to stifle it. "Literally, one time!"  
"Nah, man, I get it." Zayn said easily. "It's hard to resist being obsessed by the guy: he's literally everywhere. And he makes a new movie almost every year, so there's no respite. Plus, Harry's fit as fuck, if you're into the tall, willowly type." 

Pause. Quick glance at Liam. 

"Which I'm not." 

"Thank you, Zayn." Louis said with a pointed look at Liam. "I knew you'd understand."  
"Aww, c'mon mate, don't be like that!" Liam said cajolingly. "You know I'm only messin'. I love your Styles movie nights. What's the one that makes me cry every time? The Romeo and Juliet adaption?"  
" _Raoul and Jules_." Louis said instantly, unable to stop himself. He cringed as he realized that his quick answer might've made him seem a tad obsessed, but thankfully, no one commented on it.  
"Oh shit, that one gets to me too!" Zayn exclaimed. "His acting was superb in that, like literally top notch. He got robbed of the Oscar for Best Actor that year."  
"Oh please don't get him started...." Liam said with abject horror, looking at Zayn hopelessly.  
"That fucking award was rigged." Louis fumed, his teeth clenching together as the fiery rage he'd felt watching the Oscars three years ago resurfaced. "Harry's was by far the best performance, and everybody knew it. They just couldn't stand having somebody so young as a nominee, and the thought of a nineteen year old winner was even worse. That, plus the _controversional_ subject matter of the film, and how all of Harry's supporting cast were unknown indie artists, tipped the odds out of his favor. Everybody thought he wasn't supposed to even be in the catergory, so they decided to not give him the award, as if that was proof he shouldn't have been." 

Louis closed his mouth, his rant now over. Zayn and Liam were both staring at him: the former probably because he was amazed by the fervor of Louis' opinion (Louis really wasn't helping his whole "not obsessed with Harry Styles" argument). And the latter because he definitely couldn't believe that Louis was still mad about this.  
"You're obsessed." Liam said with a crooked grin. "Literally, mad for Harry Styles."  
"They gave the Oscar for Best Actor to Daniel- Day Lewis that year." Louis said weakly. "As if he needed another one."  
"Obsessed." Liam repeated flatly, grabbing his coffee cup and draining it. He looked inside both Louis' and Zayn's mugs, seeing that they were empty, and then stacked them inside his own, carrying them over to the sink. Zayn watched him as he moved, one of his hands on the book he'd picked from the shelves today. (It was _A Walk to Remember_.)  
"I never rung you up!" Liam gasped as he saw Zayn clutching the tattered novel. "Is that why you waited? Oh my goodness, you must be so late for work-"  
"Ah- no, not really...my job...it's kinda- kinda relaxed." Zayn stammered, toying with the dog-eared edge of the cover. "I was just....chilling here, I suppose. But I'll go now...that might be best." 

Zayn stood up, putting his glasses back on and readjusting his satchel on his body. Liam smiled, coming forward to pick up the book. Zayn followed him over to the opposite side of the store, looking like he'd been hit over the head by a club. Poor guy. Louis would take admiring a celebrity who you will never, ever have a chance with ahead of having an actual, real-life crush any day. 

And despite what his roommate said, Louis did _not_ have an obsession with Harry Styles. 

It was more of a _appreciation_. He knew a good actor when he saw one, and Harry was the epitome of a good actor. And considering he was at the top of the A list right now, and had been for the past five years at least, Louis would say that the rest of the planet agreed with him. Everybody loved him: Harry was the entire world's sweetheart. 

Some people argued that Harry was so beloved just because he was oversaturated. It was easy to adore the person you see on every magazine cover, every bus driving down the street, every cinema screen. You loved them because everything and everyone told you to. But Louis knew that wasn't the case with his appreciation for Harry Styles. Louis had followed his career from almost day one, when he found Harry's first every film, called _Angel's Cry_ , on some random TV channel. He'd been thirteen then, just a kid, totally enamoured by the face he saw in the screen. But as childish as he was, Louis had been able to see that Harry Styles was something special. 

Harry had felt like Louis' little secret back then. He'd saved up his pocket money and bought that movie: a YA novel turned teenage romance film, about a guardian angel who fell from Heaven. But apparently, every child in Britain, France, and probably every other country did the exact same thing, and Harry was catapulted to superstardom at the tender age of sixteen. And at that point, many people slip up. The papharrzzi becomes too much, the constant surveillance is overwhelming, the lure of free drugs and alcohol pulls them under. Many young stars fall, too many. But Harry? 

Harry soared, as if he was an actual angel. 

Harry Styles walked on red carpets like they were a runway and he was a Burberry model. He rubbed elbows with the greats: Dame Maggie Smith, Tom Hanks, Meryl fucking Streep, and managed to conduct himself with decorum, like a peer, like an _equal_. In interviews, he had the interviewers eating out of the palm of his hand, and also artfully avoided invasive questions, like if he was dating any of his co stars, or if he'd lost his virginity yet, or if his mother was really French, or was that just an act? (In response to that last one, he'd burst out into rapid fire French, saying the words the way only a native speaker can, rolling off his tongue like music. The ditzy blonde interviewer had been totally flummoxed. Louis had never laughed harder). 

He made movie after movie, his fanbase growing by the day. At first, his main fans had been teenage girls. Then, middle aged mothers had gotten in on the action, liking Harry's "cherubic" curls and "flirty" smile. It'd taken a couple years for him to be seen as a serious actor, and _Raoul and Jules_ had played an integral part in that. Which was, Louis assumed, why Harry chose to take on that role at all. But now, at only 21 years old, Harry Styles was basically universally known as the best in the business. And as stupid as it was, Louis couldn't help but be incredibly proud of him. 

Louis wasn't dumb. He knew that Harry would never know of his pride, never know of his existence. But that was why Louis was so vehement about not being classified as "obsessed." He wasn't one of the screaming, crying fans who waited outside of Harry's hotel for hours, making it impossible for him to leave and actually enjoy his time in any of the cities he visited. He wasn't a snoopy reporter who asked overly personal questions that the superstar never wanted to answer. He wasn't one of the trashy groupies who danced with Harry at clubs, knocking back drinks and pills together in the hope they'd wake up beside him in bed the following morning. Louis was just....proud of Harry. And he truly appreciated him, because he was a symbol of hope for Louis. 

Sure, Harry had fucked up in the past. It seemed like every celebrity did. There'd been rumors of rehab for Harry recently, which Louis really tried to ignore. Louis had chalked up most of the things he read as gossip and publicity, but still, even reading them cause a strange kind of pain. It hurt to open the newspaper and read the headline " _Ménage à trois pour Monsieur Styles?_ ," accompanied by a grainy picture of him with two beautiful blondes. It hurt to fiddle around with the radio and come across a heated debate over whether Harry Styles was addicted to heroin, ecstasy, cocaine, or all three. It hurt to know that the celebrity himself was probably hearing all these hateful things said about him. 

Maybe it hurt because those rumors about Harry could possibly be true, no matter how much Louis didn't want to believe them. 

He just seemed like too good a person for that. Harry did so much charity work, and Louis constantly cursed the media for not reporting about that more. He visited orphanages in Uganda, he started a campaign for children with dyslexia and AHDH, he promoted the better understanding and acceptance of mental illnesses. And most recently, Harry had visited a foster care facility in his hometown in France, having a "Movie Night" with the residents. They'd watched Disney movies, Dreamworks movies, and whatever films of Harry's that fell under the PG-rating. After seeing the photos of Harry, wearing a ridiculously large onesie, with a little girl with pig tails on his knee, surrounded by a sea of other girls and boys, Louis had to fight tears. Because knowing what those children were going through, feeling like Mummy and Daddy had abandoned them, Louis couldn't imagine being made feel important by a star as bright as Harry. 

That's why he was Louis' symbol of hope. He was proof that celebrities were human. Harry was proof that some people who dared follow their dreams actually had them come true. He was proof that somebody was born to play a certain role, and being beloved by everyone was definitely Harry Styles'. 

"I think _Angel's Cry_ will be the first movie of my marathon tonight." Louis mused to himself, swiping his hand down the counter and wiping some granules of sugar away. "It's all that's gonna get me through the rest of this day. And why not start where it all began, right?" 

If Louis had known what was going to happen soon, if he had known who was going to come into _Grounds for Thought_ and set his world spinning on an entirely new axis, he would've said that it was just beginning.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is here!! Hopefully it's good!!! Also, I am like Lou in this fic, and cannot speak French to save my life XD anything Harry says in French in this chapter is from Google Translate, which I hope and pray is reliable but have heard it is not XD I'll include translations in the end notes :D Tell me what you think please!!!

_Simon, if I don't get out of this hotel room soon, I will go postal_.

**The Ritz is surrounded by paps and fans. Unless you want to spend your last day in London signing autographs and dodging questions about your latest film or the model you were photographed with in Barcelona last week, I'd stay put**.

_Can't we redo that bread van thing? Like how I snuck out of that Peru hotel last year? I don't want to spent my last day in London trapped up here either_. 

**...I'll see what can be arranged. No promises though**. 

_Merci._

 

With a long sigh, Harry Styles locked his phone and tossed it down on the hotel bed in front of him, losing it among the blankets. He glanced at the waiting mattress and then fell into it himself, tugging the warm duvet over his body. If he couldn't leave the room, he might as well catch up on some well-deserved rest. He hadn't arrived back at the Ritz until 5:00 AM that morning. Last night, Harry tried to go out and just take a walk around London, maybe see some of his favorite sights. Unfortunately, that hadn't happened, and he spent the entire evening and night with fans. 

It was Harry's own fault though, because he hadn't even tried to disguise his appearance. He'd just walked out of the hotel, without even a pair of sunglasses or a hat or anything. A rookie mistake, but still one that had completely screwed with his night. All he wanted was to see Piccadily Circus, Covent Garden, and maybe that little neighborhood he could never remember the name of: the one with the pastel buildings that reminded him of his French hometown, Rennes. But instead, he signed his name on things until his hands cramped, took selfies with crying girls, kissed babies' foreheads, and smiled for the many flashing cameras. 

So, now it was 10:00 AM, Harry had gotten maybe three and a half hours sleep, and he was stuck in the hotel by himself. He knew there were many worse fates in the world, the Ritz was a five star hotel, after all, and he was in the penthouse. But let's be real, Harry jetted between so many five star establishments, they all tended to blur together. The novelty of being able to order champagne or cavier for £100 from room service had long since worn off for Harry Styles, as sinful as that sounded. Currently, all he wanted was something money couldn't get him: fresh air, and peace and quiet. 

Well, that and some coffee that didn't taste like it came from Father Christmas' workshop. Seriously, he mentioned once in an interview that he liked peppermint mocha lattes, and now every hotel he stayed in seemed to keep peppermint mocha on tap. And yeah, he did like it, but not enough to drink every morning. He was dying for something bitter, burning hot, and caffeinated enough to keep him awake, at least until his flight to Australia went up into the air tonight. And most of all, Harry wanted to get it himself, to do at least one thing on his own. Which he couldn't do, because he couldn't leave. 

"Well, if I'm stuck in here, I might as well memorize lines." Harry mumbled to himself, sitting up and leaning over to his bedside table. He scrabbled to pick up his latest script, and honestly, Harry couldn't even remember the title of the film currently, or his role in it, so Heaven knows what his lines even were. He flicked his jade green eyes over the first page, feeling the beginnings of a headache start to pound in his temples as the words swam around and melded together. What language was this even in? Harry was fluent in three, and he didn't know. (Admittedly, one of those languages was sign, so he supposed that didn't really apply).  
"Okay, fuck that, then." Harry chuckled with a shake of his head, tossing the script back down again. "Future Harry's problem. I still think I should get French scripts and then just translate them by myself: I memorize French so much easier, and it's the far more beautiful language." 

God, Harry would give nearly anything to be in France right now. Rennes, the capital city of the Brittany region, was so beautiful in the autumn. The town was always busiest then, with people booking holidays in late September, trying to stretch the summer as long as possible. The fields surrounding his hometown were always full of apple trees, and Harry distinctly remembered running through them barefoot as a child. He'd felt so triumphant the day he was finally tall enough to snag a ripe red apple from the lowest hanging branch. 

It was a seaside town, with new boats arriving in at the dock every day. Sailboats full of tourists bobbed along the coast, against a beautiful rocky backdrop. But Harry's favourite thing about his town was the ocean. When the sun shone, the water was aquamarine blue. That was what Harry missed most when he travelled, and with his job, he was basically constantly travelling. But no matter where he went in the world, if Harry saw that color, that beautiful _blue_ , he felt like he was home. 

Trying to stop his thoughts from turning homesick and morose, Harry searched the cavernous blankets for his mobile to distract himself with. He swiped to his texts to see if his agent, Simon Cowel, had figured out a plan to get him the hell out of here, and he'd just missed the text. But sadly, Harry had missed nothing.  
" _Merde_." Harry cursed in French, his native tongue slipping out without him even thinking about it. (He was supposed to only ever speak English while he was in Britain: his two "home countries" had a friendly rivalry going on, over which nation Harry Styles felt more allegiance to. And Harry was told to play it up as much as possible, behaving overly British while in Britain and overly French while in France. But there was no competition for Harry. He was French, first and foremost, despite his much-used passport being English). 

 

Deciding to amuse himself in some way, Harry left the conversation with Simon. He went to the most visited name in his contact's list, and typed out a quick message to his best friend. If only he was locked up here with Harry: then it'd be bearable. They'd play video games, probably order a pizza and eat the entire thing, despite both of their strict dietary guidelines (meaning that Harry hadn't had dessert in what feels like seven years), and pretend they were normal blokes for a few hours. Which they weren't and never would be again, but as an actor, Harry was a professional pretender. 

_Niall, come break me out of this Ritz. I'm going mad_. 

**Srry m8. Arriving at a photoshoot. Phone's gotta go on silent now XD**

_....Can I laugh at the irony of that statement, or does that make me Dickhead Supreme?_

**Go ahead and laugh your ass off, I can't hear ya....from here**.

_If you're finished, do you have any suggestions on how I can distract myself from the endless monotony of this morning_?

**Rub one out?**

_NIALL_. 

**What? I kno it only takes like 7 mins or sumthing, but you'd have a bit of fun.**

_I already have a majority of the earth's population falsely believing that I'm the randiest motherfucker on the planet. Don't tell me you're one of their number now._

**Idk man, you and that Spanish "Esmerelda" one last week.... ;D**

_We literally just walked around Barcelona and she showed me this fountain thing: ya know the one, from the Lizzie McGuire movie? It was a publicity stunt, I didn't even kiss her....you KNOW my rule about that!_

**I'm just joking, Haz, take a chill pill XD I think you shag a perfectly adequate number of people. Now, I seriously have to go, my designer is glaring at me to put the mobile away, and I can't pretend that I don't SEE her. If you're still cooped up by the time I'm out, I'll swing by the Ritz and we'll have a bro's afternoon/evening/thing, until your flight leaves.**

 

Harry grinned crookedly down at his phone screen, rereading his text conversation with Niall. He'd just known that his best friend would make him feel better. He chuckled as his eyes flicked over Niall's gently self-deprecating comments, wondering for the millionth time how he could act blasé. Maybe it was simply because the comments were coming from himself. Harry knew that if he personally ever heard anybody teasing Niall, he'd go absolutely beserk. Because Niall was deaf. 

(He was also St. Laurent's top male model, but he tended to tell people that as secondary information). 

Niall had been born prematurely, and amazingly, his only weakened function was his hearing. At birth, he could only hear out of his left ear. But then one bad ear infection later, and the sense was gone entirely. Obviously, he didn't know any differently, and Niall refused to let his disability hold him back. And given his success in his chosen profession, Harry would say he was really defying all his stereotypes. Niall had been on the modeling scene basically all his life, appearing in Baby Gerber commercials as a toddler, JCPenney magazines as a child, and then modeling for Aeropostale as a teen. The photographs of teenaged Niall, running around on a beach set, wearing Aero swim trunks, were cherished by Harry like no others. 

Niall swore that he'd only made it as a model by luck, knowing a few people, and having a "half-decent mug." But Harry, knowing that that was really how _he'd_ made it big, thought that Niall's success was a little different, because his personality was infectious. Anybody could stand around, smile pretty, and have their picture taken. But Niall was just so naturally likeable, that everybody who communicated with him never wanted to do anything else. 

Which made Harry desperately sad, because so few people did. So few people _could_. 

***

When Harry was sixteen, at the premiere of his first ever movie, he'd nearly shit himself with nerves. The red carpet had been mental, too many men in tuxedos and women wearing dresses worth millions of pounds. The only people he'd known were his cast mates, the director of the film, and his mum and dad. The director was all over the place, too hyped up over the potential success of the film to check up on the young star, his mum had promised to not hover over him, whereas his dad didn't talk to Harry enough to make such a promise, and the only cast mate his age was his leading lady. A rising starlet who, despite their "romance" on screen, hated him at the time (Harry was a nobody then, remember). 

So the result had been Harry locking himself in the fancy toliet of the premiere venue and struggling not to panic. He couldn't even let himself cry it out, because there was a goddamn toliet attendant: a person who stood by the door of the washroom and just waited, in case the celebrities needed anything. What kind of world had Harry even entered? Because sitting in that bathroom stall, with his feet barely touching the fucking ground, he wasn't sure if he wanted to be in this world at all. 

So wrapped up in his thoughts, Harry hadn't heard anybody else enter the toilets. But he was finally dragged out of his head when a small notepad landed on the floor at his feet. Looking down in shock, Harry leaned down and picked it up, glancing at the front of his stall. He saw a pair of booted feet outside of it, so he assumed that this was the person who'd thrown the notebook at him. Was this normal celebrity behavior?

Looking down, Harry flipped the cover of the notebook over, going to the first page. Words were hastily scribbled there, Harry struggling to decipher the messy scrawl. He spoke English almost flawlessly, but his brain was still hard-wired to read French. Eventually, Harry could make out the note written to him, mumbling the words in slow English under his breath. 

_"Hiya! I saw you come in here about twenty minutes ago, and I'm sure you probably wanna be by yourself. This shit is all mental, isn't it? I'm getting stressed by just being here, and it's not even my film! I'm not even an actor! I can't imagine being the star of this, so I totally get if you wanna be alone for a bit. But I just wanted to let you know that there's hors d'oeuvres outside, which look pretty deadly. If you're hungry, which I'm sure you probably are (I'm always starved at publicity stuff), then maybe you could come outta there and come steal some with me? And then maybe we could sit next to each other during the screening of the film: they always lump the kids/teens together, and I'm a good movie companion. I don't talk much hahaha. Write back if yes, keep the notebook if no, and I'll piss off XD."_

Maybe it was because the paper of his notebook was blue. Maybe it was because whoever wrote the note used a a French word, when he could've just used "appetizers." Maybe it was because for whatever reason, Harry wouldn't have to keep up much of a conversation with this stranger. Maybe it was because Harry truly didn't want to be by himself all night, on what was supposed to be the best night of his short life. 

Whatever the reason, it made Harry stand up, unlock the bathroom stall, and swing the door open. Standing in front of him was a teenage boy, with lemon-coloured hair, eyes bluer than the English Channel, and possibly the widest smile Harry had ever seen. He waved at Harry friendily, his grin not slipping.  
"Hello." Harry said quietly, offering a weak smile of his own. His companion fixated his eyes on Harry's lips, watching them move. He reached for the notebook in Harry's hand, tugging it from his grasp. Uncapping one of the many pens in his suit pocket, he hurriedly wrote something else, which Harry peered over his shoulder to read.  
_"I'm Niall Horan. I'm deaf. I'm also a model, but that generally comes second. Wanna be friends?"_

And just like that, Harry had made his first famous friend. Walking out of the toilet and into Niall's friendship had been Harry's private acceptance of his new life, of this new world that wanted him to belong. Sure, nobody had known how famous Harry would get. No one could've foreseen the phenomenon of _Angel's Cry_ , and subsequently, the phenomenon of Harry Styles himself. But since that first night, that night on the red carpet where Harry nearly felt blinded by all the flashing lights, he'd had Niall by his side. Because Niall had ironically been the only person to listen to Harry. 

After the movie premiere, despite being more exhausted than he'd ever felt in his entire life, Harry stayed up for what remained of the night, watching Youtube tutorials on the basics of sign language. 

***

Present day Harry was snapped out of his reverie by his phone buzzing with another text. Heart leaping, he scrambled to unlock it and read the message, knowing it was from Simon.  
"Please let me get out of here." Harry half prayed as he swiped to his messages and tapped the most recent one with his thumb. 

**No luck, Harry. Not enough body guards available. You're stuck there for the day. I'll see you on the flight to Oz later.**

With a click, Harry locked his phone again, letting it slide through his fingers and land to rest on his sternum. He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, inhaling deeply. He just breathed for a few moments, trying not to let the annoyance over his current situation engulf him. So many people would love to have this problem, Harry knew that. He just- he just didn't particularly want it to be _his_ problem today. Let somebody else play the role of Harry Styles for a little while, and he could be somebody else. That's all acting was, being someone you're not. 

"Fuck it." Harry said simply, swinging his legs around on the bed and standing up. He raised his arms over his head and stretched, feeling his shoulders pop. Going over to one of his many suitcases, he rummaged around inside it, pulling out a pair of sunglasses. They were Niall's actually, St. Laurent shades that made it impossible to see the wearer's eyes. Digging deeper into the case, Harry found a gray beanie, grinning with triumph. He shoved it onto his head, pulling it over his unruly curly hair. His hairstylist would definitely kill him for the hat hair later, but right then, Harry didn't really care. (Plus, this stylist insisted on _brushing_ out his curls, when it was basically Rule One of Curly Hair to not do that). 

Harry shoved a pair of nondescript boots on his feet, doing the laces quickly. Striding over to the full-length mirror hanging on the wall, the actor looked into it, wondering if he could actually pull this off. Excluding the sunglasses, hat, and boots, Harry wore tight-fitting black jeans, a white V-neck, and a gray cardigan. Which he figured were all pretty normal clothes to wear in the fall. He looked quite ordinary, and today, all Harry Styles wanted was to blend in with the crowd. He was being somebody else, someone he wasn't.  
"Movie: Untitled. Scene One, Take One." Harry said aloud as he left the hotel room penthouse. "Hopefully we won't have any cuts." 

 

Getting out of the Ritz without being spotted was a goddamn _adventure_. 

Harry snuck through the myriad hallways like a bank robber, keeping his eyes glued to the patterned floor. He slouched his shoulders over anytime anybody passed him in the corridor, trying to make himself smaller. The elevator was a major danger zone, so he took the stairs, clopping down the many flights until his calves burned from the exertion. Reaching the final door, Harry pushed it open and stepped into the main lobby of the hotel, hiding behind a potted plant. Reporters were at the front desk, asking the receptionist in a variety of languages where Mr. Styles was, if he'd been seen this morning, if he was coming down anytime soon. 

Harry held his breath, knowing if he moved from his current location, he'd definitely be noticed. It was like interviewers were professionally trained to sniff him out, and all that was masking his scent was this stupid potted plant. Glancing around for a way of escape, he saw a few bell boys pushing a trolley full of suitcases out to the front of the hotel. Pulling off his sunglasses for a few moments, Harry made quick eye contact with one, who stared at him with round eyes and an open mouth. Definitely a newbie, Harry hadn't seen him working at this establishment before. With a little wave, Harry beckoned the employee over, who looked like he was trying not to pass out.  
"Hi mate." Harry said amiably, keeping his face half hidden by a leaf. "Could I ask you a favor?"  
"Anything!" the young man burst out, turning red. He had a thick Cockney accent, throwing Harry back into the past for a few moments. He’d perfected his own Cockney accent for a role once…  
"Whatever you need- I'm uh- I'm your guy."  
"Thanks- John." Harry said warmly, quickly flicking his eyes down to read the bell boy's shiny name tag. "I really appreciate it. Now, is there any way possible you could sneak me out of here on that cart of yours? I'm trying to be discreet today."  
"Umm- well, I think you'd probably be spotted, crouching with the cases...I could get a couple of mates to like...shield you, I suppose?”  
“Yes! A valiant brigade of bellboys!” Harry said enthusiastically. “That’s perfect!”  
“Yeah- yeah a bridge…”John mumbled, half to himself, as he went off and get Harry’s saviors. 

 

Harry was quickly surrounded by young men, all dressed in bright green uniforms. He bent his knees slightly, so his head wouldn’t pop up over any of theirs. They were all chattering rambunctiously, glancing occasionally at Harry with wide eyes. John, seeming to think he had to lead this expedition, walked in the front, pushing a cart. Harry felt a laugh rise up in his chest and he fought to quell it. This was literally his life, sneaking out of Ritz hotels in a staged horde of people. Thankfully, they reached the front door without anybody stopping them. Exiting the building, John took a harsh left turn, everybody following him. There was a limousine parked out the front, waiting for whatever celeb had ordered it, so the bellboys walked with Harry over to it, hiding him now with both their bodies and the car.  
“You lads are class, thank you so much.” Harry said, playing up his English accent as he quickly shook all of their hands. They all stared at him with wide eyes, looking overawed. The employees stood back a few inches from him, whatever closeness they’d momentarily felt disappearing. Now they seemed nervous, uncomfortable. 

Harry felt a strange kind of sadness weigh upon him. These guys were his age; some of them even seemed older. And yet his presence was making them reticent. In another life, a different life, he might’ve worked here, might’ve been one of their friends. But he wasn’t, because he was still Harry Styles, and everybody knew the invisible boundary that name created.  
“You’re welcome, sir!’ John said quickly, tipping his cap forward. “Anything else you require?”  
Harry was about to shake his head no, say that they’d already done enough. But...now that he was actually out of the hotel building, there was only one place he wanted to go. A place he didn’t know the name of.  
“Actually, yes. There’s this London neighborhood that I like, but can’t remember where it is, or what it’s called. It’s like...all pastel buildings and corner shops and vendors. Does it sound familiar at all?”  
“Sounds like Notting Hill t’ me.” John said with a firm nod of his head. “You might need to catch a bus or something, it’s kinda far of a walk-”  
“I’ll be fine.” Harry assured him with a grin. “I could really, really use a walk. Thank again, lads.”

With that, Harry turned and left, taking a deep breath of the crisp autumn air. He strode forward, the unexpected freedom making his legs grow stronger. As he went, he heard the bellboys burst into excited chatter behind him, already recounting their experience with the star.  
“He’s so friendly, not pompous or snobby at all. I shouldn’t’ve believed the articles I read about ‘im.”

_Tell that to the rest of the world_. 

“You idiot John, asking if Harry Styles would take a _bus_.” 

_Oi, I’ve been on buses before….not for about seven years...but I have been!_

“D’ya think he knows Jennifer Lawrence?”

I do. She’s as lovely as everyone thinks. Lucky her. 

“Poor bloke, having to sneak out to get some alone time. I’d hate that, never getting any time to meself. Maybe it’s easier when you’re used to it though.”

_It’s not. It’s harder_. 

 

Notting Hill was just as gorgeous as Harry remembered it. Admittedly, it was also farther away than he remembered. He walked the streets of London aimlessly for about an hour and a half, looking at his phone the entire time. This was for two reasons: one being that people were less likely to recognise him if his head was bowed, and the other that he pulled up Google Maps of London to actually find this neighborhood. 

And then, it was like Harry stumbled across it. He took a wrong turn, or maybe it was the right one, and suddenly, he was in the middle of a crowded street, being buffeted by the people on every side. The streets of London were always busy, but this was something else all together. People were everywhere, their voices rising up in a beautiful symphony. Different languages rang out as people bartered for goods at the stalls, or chattered aimlessly with each other, making random friends in line. Harry surreptitiously shoved his glasses closer to his face and tugged the beanie lower on his ears. But he figured his precaution was unnecessary. For once in his life, nobody was paying any attention to him, too caught up in the beauty of the day and of the moment. And the feeling of anonymity, of being just another face in the crowd, was exhilarating. 

Harry raised his chin slightly, daring to look around a bit as he gently wormed his way through the people. He walked down a small path, turning left and heading toward a stand selling fresh fruit, the sign above it reading _Fresh Fruit and Veg_. How quintessentially British. The wind blew the aromatic smell of fruit toward Harry, and his stomach growled loudly, almost indignantly, as if reminding him that he hadn’t eaten breakfast this morning. He still wanted that coffee, but he figured it’d be better if he ate something first. Getting into the queue behind an elderly man, Harry peered over his stooped shoulder to read the menu. 

The man finished his purchase, and Harry stepped forward, his order on his lips. The server, a young girl of about sixteen, glanced at him, and then did a double take. Harry hurriedly held a finger to his lips, silently imploring her to be quiet.  
“I’m incognito, love.” he whispered conspiratorially. “Wanna help me with my little secret?”  
The girl flushed bright red, from her neck up to the roots of her dyed green hair. She nodded quickly, biting on her lower lip as her lip piercing flashed in the sunlight. Harry winked cheekily, giving her a winning smile. He knew this wasn’t really fair, working people to get his way like this, but sometimes, it was the only thing that worked. And when this was the only taste of normality that Harry had gotten in about three weeks, he’d do whatever he had to to keep it going for a little while longer.  
“What would you like to order?” the girl asked timidly, blushing again as Harry made eye contact with her.  
“Ah, just an apple, thanks poppet.” Harry said easily, reaching into his pocket for his wallet. Flipping it open, he looked inside, expecting to pull out some money to give to the server. But unfortunately, the only cash he had was euros, left over from the goddamn Barcelona trip, and this vendor didn’t take credit.  
“It’s fine.” the teenager blurted out as she handed Harry the red apple, clearly seeing his dilemma. “Happens all the time, we just let it go. Take the apple, it doesn’t matter.”

And Jesus Christ, now Harry felt like pure shit. First, he’d flirted with the poor thing, just so she wouldn’t blow his cover, and now he wasn’t paying her for a fucking piece of fruit, despite being extraordinarily wealthy. Harry pursed his lips together, shaking his head. He put the apple in his mouth, holding it between his teeth, and then used both his hand to rifle through his wallet. He didn’t have anything smaller than a 200 euro note, so with a shrug, Harry pulled it out and offered it to the girl. And when she refused to take it, he tossed it into the tip jar. She could always get it exchanged for pounds at the bank, right? 

Harry walked through the streets of the neighborhood nonchalantly, taking a bite of his apple. The sweet, almost tangy taste hit his tongue, and he chewed vigorously. Going down another alleyway, he leaned against a blue building, propping one foot up against the wall. Across the street, a young mother was bowed over a pram, tending to a fussing baby. A little boy, maybe six years old, was standing beside her, his smaller hand being tightly clasped by his mother’s. He looked at Harry quickly, bowing his head shyly. Harry gave the boy a little wave, knowing that the mum would be too distracted to pay him any attention. The child waved back, smiling a gap-toothed smile. It looked like the wheels in his head were turning, his childish brain trying to place where he’d seen Harry before. Probably on the cover of one of his mum’s tabloids.

Figuring he better intervene, Harry quickly held a finger to his lips, and the boy copied the action, smiling mischievously. The actor nodded once, continuing on his way down the street. But then something stopped him in his tracks. He took a deep breath, holding the now apple core away from his nose to stop it from masking the scent of what he wanted. Coffee. 

Turning on his heels, Harry studied the blue building in front of him, cocking his head to the side. Through the dusty windows, he saw a small area, full of bookshelves that looked nearly too weak to hold up the literature in them. But he could still smell the coffee, the invigorating smell cloying in his nostrils and teasing him. Looking up, Harry read the faded sign above the shop. _Grounds for Thought_. 

 

Okay, so a bookstore/coffeeshop, he assumed? Harry could definitely roll with that. Hopefully they took credit cards, because he doubted he’d get away with using euros twice in one day. Glancing around, Harry took in the front of the store before he went in. It must be new, because Harry had last been in Notting Hill….a year and a half ago? He thought? And he’d trawled the streets for hours, going into nearly every store, and this hadn’t been one of them. He would’ve remembered. Despite it’s apparent newness, the aforementioned blue paint of the shop was already peeling, looking faded from the weak English sun. 

Glancing down, Harry saw a small chalkboard leaning against the door of the shop. He struggled to read the message inscribed on it, for a couple reasons: the chalk was bright yellow, the words were unfortunately English, and whoever had written this had awful handwriting. But eventually, Harry made it out, and he chuckled, shaking his head at the corniness. Because, messily written above a chibi drawing of an open book were the words “ _I like big books and I cannot lie!_ ”

“Well, now I have to go in.” Harry said to himself, tossing his apple core into the gutter at his feet. “An establishment like this one, with a sign like that, definitely deserves support.”

***

Harry pushed the front door open, a bell above his head jangling. He quietly shut the door behind him, carefully wiping his feet on the matt beneath them. He glanced around, looking for other people in the store. The place seemed deserted, not even a cashier in sight, and Harry grinned. This was perfect. He could peruse the books in total peace. Obviously, the no cashier thing might be a bit of a problem, like when he actually wanted to buy a book or place his coffee order, but Harry would cross that particular bridge when he came to it. 

Harry walked over to the first set of shelves, the floorboards creaking underneath his feet. He went around the corner and then stood behind the shelves, artfully shielding his body with them. His eyes flicked over a row of novels, his long fingers dancing along the spines. He wasn’t sure what the organization was: there didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reasons to the titles. Shrugging, the star put his hand on a random paperback, tugging it forward. And when he read the title, he had to stifle a bark of laughter, because his life just followed him everywhere, didn't it?

He was holding a battered copy of _Angel's Cry_ : the YA novel that'd made him famous with its book to movie adaptation. Luckily, this book was old enough that it possessed the original artwork, and not the newer version with the cinematic cover. He still remembered that photoshoot: sixteen year old him standing shirtless in front of a green screen, with his arms outstretched as if he was in flight, for what seemed like hours. (Necessary Photoshopping was obviously done on the photos: giving Harry wicked black angel wings, a couple tattoos, and a sixpack that he certainly did _not_ possess at the time of filming). 

Flipping idly through the pages, Harry read a couple lines, remembering how faithfully he'd delivered them on screen. The writer of the novel, a brilliant yet somewhat insane woman named Suzie McHugh, had been heavily involved in the production of the movie, and she insisted that every cast member read the original novel, to "get a true feel and appreciation for their characters." So, Harry had diligently read it then, highlighting whatever quotes he'd be saying. Whoever had previously owned this book, however, was even more dilligent, underlining quotes or starring passages on nearly every page. Harry smiled fondly, brushing his fingers over a line that he'd absolutely loved delivering. And considering the big smiley face scribbled next to it on the text, this book's first owner liked it too. 

" _Before you ask, yes, it hurt when I fell from Heaven_." Harry whispered under his breath, feeling a goofy grin spread across his cheeks. He carefully bent the page backward, marking it for later. He decided that he was buying this book somehow, despite not having anyone to check him out or any British currency to pay with. Stepping out from behind the shelf, he looked around again. He saw the unmanned till, which was where he assumed most people bought their books. But they had to buy coffee from in here somewhere: he could still smell it. With a shrug, Harry walked further into the recesses of the shop, passing a few more shelves that seemed ready to topple over at a moment's notice. 

Eyes widening, Harry finally saw the coffee counter: a sparse thing with four high stools and a single coffee machine. But that wasn't what surprised him about it, because this place didn't seem the most affluent, despite its corny charm. But Harry's heart nearly leapt out of his chest when he saw that he wasn't actually alone in the shop. Somebody was sitting behind the counter, leaning over with their head resting on the arms. So they were either firmly ignoring the fact they had a customer, sleeping, or...dead. 

(Harry was seriously hoping for one of the first two options, and not the third. The last thing he needed was for tomorrow's head lines to read " _Monsieur Murderer_!" 

Taking a hesitant step forward, Harry approached the counter silently, standing across from the...barista? Cashier? Hopefully not deceased owner of the place? Leaning over on his feet, Harry peered closer, wondering what to do. With relief, he saw that his companion was just asleep, his breaths even and slow. Every inhale lifted his slim shoulders up, filling out the blue knit of his sweater. The boy's (Harry assumed he was a boy, he didn't look very old from this angle) head was downward, pressing on his forearms. His brown hair was swept backwards, clinging to his forehead. It looked extraordinarily soft, and for one crazy second, Harry wanted to touch it. He managed to fight the urge, digging his fingers into the cover of the novel in his hands. 

"Erm...excuse me?" Harry said nervously, clearing his throat loudly enough that maybe this guy would wake up. He coughed into his elbow purposefully, unsure of what else to do. "I was just wondering if you could ring me up now?"  
No movement. Harry sighed deeply, pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead. Why was everything difficult? He seemingly couldn't do this one thing for himself. Harry pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers, planning what to do next. On a whim, he started to whisper in French under his breath, knowing it would probably have no effect. The words were nonsense anyway, he barely knew what he was saying.  
" _Belle au bois dormant, je ne peux pas vous réveiller avec un baiser_."

Harry had just turned away from the counter, trudging back towards the shelf to return the book, when he heard movement. Whirling back around, he saw the boy raise his head, dragging an ivory-skinned hand down his face. He rubbed his fist against his eyes, yawning blearily and making no attempt to cover it. Harry smiled slightly, endeared by how sleepy this guy seemed. If he was up as late as Harry last night, he could definitely sympathize. 

The boy rubbed his eyes again, raising his arms overhead and stretching his shoulders. The bottom of his jumper rode up, exposing some of his stomach, and Harry quickly looked anywhere else. The barista groaned lowly, hanging his head one last time. He quickly ran a hand through his soft-looking hair, pushing the shiny fringe out of his eyes. Yawning into his hand one last time, he finally lifted his gaze to clap eyes on his customer. 

And as they looked at one another, something deep within Harry screamed " _His eyes look like home_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Merci- Thank you  
> Merde- Shit  
> Belle au bois dormant, je ne peux pas vous réveiller avec un baiser- Sleeping Beauty, I cannot wake you with a kiss. 
> 
> (Actual French speakers, please don't hate me if these are wrong! This fic is for pure entertainment and enjoyment :3 Comments, kudos, subscriptions, and bookmarks are all noticed and greatly appreciated!!! I love you all!!)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The meet cute.

Louis just wants to talk through how he got into this situation. 

Zayn left the shop half an hour ago, after he finally checked the time and realized that he should maybe saunter into work now. There were a few more minutes of awkward flirting with Liam, in which the graphic designer somehow got Liam to admit that he's never seen a Nicholas Sparks film. (“Do you think I ever wrangle the DVD player from Lou here?”) Zayn then seemed to weigh his options: 1. Ask Liam to possibly watch a Sparks movie sometime. Or 2. Run for his fucking life. Unsurprisingly, Zayn chose number 2. Lou could see the dust particles that his booted feet kicked up as he sped away. 

Then, Liam left around the shop about fifteen minutes ago to buy more cat food for Spike. He’d grabbed the money they earned today from the cash register and then ran out, as if the poor animal would perish if he didn't buy _MeowMix_ right now. The cat himself was sitting behind the closed door leading up to the flat, scratching his claws against the wood and yowling indignantly every so often, as if he knew he was alone with Louis, his least favorite human. And Louis, for his part, was too tired to listen to that shit, so he’d fallen asleep in his seat. 

So technically, Louis waking up face to face with Harry Styles _alone_ was all Spike’s fault. Louis was still going to skin that cat someday. But right then, he had bigger problems. In the moment that tired blue eyes met intrigued green, there were many, many things Louis could've said. A few of the milder ones that ran through his sleep deprived brain were: 

_I've had this dream before. Sadly, right as he leans into kiss me, I always wake up._

_Marry me. Or fuck me. Whichever comes first. Or both._

_SHITFUCKSHITFUCKSHITFUCKSHITFUCKSHITSHITSHITFUCKITYFUCKITYFUCK._

_Harry fucking Styles is in my shop._

Fortunately, none of those came out of Louis’ mouth. 

***

Unfortunately, this is what did: 

“You're- you're not my roommate.” Louis stammered, feeling his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth. He wobbled in his seat, feeling his legs tremble from sudden adrenaline, and he half slammed his hands down on the counter to steady himself. The last thing Louis needed right now was to topple to the ground. “You’re not Liam.”   
“No, I'm not.” Harry Styles ( _Harry fucking Styles?_ ) responded, a hint of amusement in his musical voice. Louis was staring. Was Louis staring? He was dressed casually, just jeans and a shirt and a cardigan that all looked inexpensive but probably cost more than Louis’ house. Tinted sunglasses swept his hair away from his face, a hat also helping to hold the curls off his elegant features. And Harry Styles was looking right back at Louis, a lopsided smile on his face. A dimple appeared in his left cheek as he bit down on his lower lip, and Louis gulped. He’d wanted to kiss that dimple since he was thirteen…

_Oh Jesus he's still talking and I haven't woken up yet this is real this is r e a l Harry Styles is in my shop talking to me_. 

“He’s a lucky bloke though. Your roommate. If he lives here.” the French actor said, glancing around the shop. Louis saw that a book was tucked under his elbow, and his heart lurched in his chest. How long had he been here? What shelves had he looked at? As charming as Louis liked to believe his shop was, he knew it didn't come across that way to many. He was suddenly hyper aware of how the books sagged down on the shelves, their titles in complete disarray. And of how the floorboards creaked whenever you stepped on them, and the dust would probably kill the first asthmatic to ever enter the place. 

Worse, Louis was even _more_ hyperaware of his own inadequacies. He could feel how his fringe clung to his forehead, because he didn’t gel it today. And oh fuck, he didn't shave, why didn't he shave? And if he dared reach his hand forward for whatever reason, Harry fucking Styles would see the coffee stain on his left cuff and everything was _wrong_.   
“Do you want coffee?” Louis burst out, feeling his stomach constrict with nerves as he strained to not trip over his words. “I see you have a book already, but-but it’s also a coffee shop. So, if you want some, we’ve got it…but not like anything special, like not pumpkin spice or peppermint mocha, just coffee.” 

_I need to act normal…. I read somewhere that he hates being treated differently because of fame….just treat him like a normal customer._

Harry Styles ( _Harry fucking Styles!!!_ ) pulled his sunglasses off his head, hooking them on the collar of his tee. This action exposed the milky white skin of his throat, the edge of his angular collarbone popping out. Louis could see a vein stand out in his throat as he swallowed, before opening his mouth to speak. A distant part of Louis’ brain hoped he spoke in French, even if he couldn't understand it.   
“You have no idea,” Harry began, his voice gravelly (from lack of sleep or something else?) “How perfect that sounds.”   
Louis gave a quick nod, feeling his hands tingle from how tightly he'd (unknowingly) been clenching them. Styles must think Louis was gonna sock him one. He turned on his heels, feeling himself sway from side to side. He made it over to the coffee pot and managed to put it on, his fingers shaking. The muscles of his back and neck were taut with anxiety as he poured the steaming coffee into a chipped china mug.   
“Milk or sugar?” Louis asked weakly, not turning back to look at the actor. If he had, he probably would've poured the drink all over himself, just to end this. Or to wake himself up, because 87% of Louis was still positive this was a dream.   
“ _Non, merci_.” Harry replied, sounding absentminded now. At the sudden French, Louis jolted, some of the coffee slopping over the edges of the mug and landing on his hand. He hissed through his teeth, trying not to wince too noticeably. Louis slowly turned back around, putting the cup back on the countertop and sliding it over to Harry Styles. He put his long fingers around the handle, his knuckles brushing Louis’ hand.   
“Sorry about that.” he said offhandedly, and was Louis imagining his now British accent? “I speak in French when I'm- ah- _distracted_.”   
“I- I know what you said.” Louis half choked. “Thank you, right?”   
“Yes.” Harry said, giving a smile. It was the classic Styles smile: a crooked little smirk that looked innocent but really, was anything but. The smile that he wore when leggy models were pressing their red, voluptuous lips to his cheeks. The smile that _Hello!_ Magazine said “ could make a sinner of an angel.” The smile that Louis has first seen on his TV as a young teen. The smile that stole his breath every single time.   
“ _Merci_.” Harry Styles repeated softly. 

_Somebody needs to have mercy on me_.

***

There were countless things Harry needed to get done before he left Britain. He needed to pack up his hotel room, because even after all these years from jetting to place to place, he refused to let anyone clean up after him in hotels. Mostly because he didn't want or need snoopy Ritz maids rifling through his things. (He was still waiting for the day where his used loo roll ended up on eBay or something). He needed to hang out with Niall at some point, because they were rarely in the same city at the same time. (He also probably should've gone down to Cheshire and seen his dad’s side of the family, but that would've been _quite_ the trip, so he hadn't). And all of these responsibilities were racing against a clock that they’d never outdistance, because his flight to Sydney was departing at 7:00 PM that very night. 

And despite all of this, Harry suddenly had no plans for the day, unless they involved standing right at this counter and talking to this enchanting young man. See, objectively, he knew he shouldn't be doing this. He shouldn't be smiling his flirty smile or letting his hands gently brush against the barista’s or speaking in French, but Jesus, he'd do it all day long if it meant his companion kept blushing like that. He was adorably flustered, cheeks bright pink and blue eyes huge every time he glanced at Harry. A few locks of hair were pressed to his angular cheekbone, probably from where he’d laid his head on the counter, and he kept biting down on his bottom lip, in what looked like distress. 

From what Harry could gather, this boy had a very good idea of who exactly Harry was (because really, his disguise had fooled no one today), and he was doing his utmost to not make a big deal about it. In fact, so far he’d treated Harry as if he was just a normal guy, and that made the actor stop in his tracks. Maybe that was the true reason Harry had no desire to leave. But the barista’s…. _general attractiveness_ certainly helped solidify the decision. 

Harry wrapped his fingers tighter around the handle of his mug, noticing a chip in the rim. With a wry smile, he raised the cup to his lips, taking a small sip of the bitter liquid. He sighed as the heat travelled down his throat, the caffeine already perking him up slightly. Over the edge of the mug, his eyes met the barista’s, who went nearly purple with the strength of his blush.   
“Are you enjoying Notting Hill?” he blurted out, nerves evident in his voice. Harry’s ears pricked up at his accent, trying to place it. (He sorta prided himself on being able to identify multiple accents by region. One of the many upsides of travelling the entire world constantly). It was light and airy, and definitely not a Londoner’s rough tone. “And- and England in general?”   
“Why, yes.” Harry said, fluidly pulling out a stool of the counter and sinking down into it. He put his elbows on the surface and then rested his chin on his hand, his coffee in front of him. “England is one of my favourite places to visit, and this street is particularly close to my heart.”   
“That's- that's good.” the boy half squeaked, putting about five feet of space between himself and Harry. He was nearly sitting in the sink behind him. The barista was frantically rolling and unrolling the left sleeve of his sweater, and Harry caught a glimpse of a delicately boned wrist and hand.   
“I- I should go-umm- tidy up the shelves a bit.” Harry’s agitated companion said, stepping out from behind the counter and heading over to the haphazard bookshelves. “You can sit there as long as you like, I'll ring you up later...tell me if you need another cuppa or anything.”   
The way he said the word, _Cup_ -pa, fired the neurons within Harry’s brain. Doncaster, that was it! He was from Doncaster. Harry had been there once years ago, and from what he remembered, it was typical English countryside: green, rainy, and full of football pitches. The barista was a right Donny boy. As he took another gulp of coffee, Harry smiled into his mug at the thought. 

Now alone, Harry leaned his elbows fully on the scratched surface of the counter. He picked up the tattered copy of _Angel’s Cry_ and started to flip through it again. Studying the well-worn ink with fond eyes, he grazed his fingertips over the neon yellow highlighter marks. Suddenly, Harry was thrown back to being sixteen and highlighting his lines on his first ever script, and the actor longed to know who had so lovingly outlined these words. He let the pages slip back through his fingers, going to the front cover. There, messily scribbled in the left corner was the name of it’s previous owner: _Louis Tomlinson_.   
“French name.” Harry murmured under his breath, pressing his thumb to the blue biro ink. “Lou-ee.” 

Behind him, Harry heard the barista hefting books around, probably back to their original places. A stack was pushed to the side, their paper covers rustling against the metal of the shelves, and then Harry could feel a pair of eyes watching him. He was well accustomed to the sensation, but this felt more intimate than normal. It didn’t feel like a million different gazes were fixated on him, searching his soul. These blue eyes just felt gentle. They weren’t invasive, trying to find his secrets. They simply observed him. 

Harry’s reverie ( and probably the boy’s) was interrupted by an unholy noise from his right, making him jump in his seat. His elbow knocked against his mug and Harry cursed under his breath as the drink spilled everywhere. Shooting a hand out, he hurried to pick up the novel, making sure no coffee had splashed on it’s yellowed pages. Once again, the noise sounded, a screech that made Harry wince. He recognized the sound from the alleyways on Rennes: angry yowls accompanied by claws and hisses. There was a cat somewhere in here. 

Shaking his head at the hilarity of this situation, Harry looked around for napkins to mop up the mess he’d made. And suddenly, the barista was back as quickly as he’d left, grabbing a tea towel that was hanging from his belt. He hurriedly tossed it down on the counter, beginning to dry it fiercely.   
“ ‘M so, so sorry!” he stammered, accent getting higher. “I’ve a cat...I live upstairs, I don’t bring him to work...he’s not even mine, he’s Liam’s....I’m so sorry-”  
“I’m the one who should be sorry.” Harry said calmly, reaching to take the towel from the distressed barista. “It was my blunder.”  
Somehow, (because Harry couldn’t seem to stop himself today), Harry’s hand ended up right on top of the barista’s as he tried to maneuver the towel from his grip. He went bright red again, snapping his head up to look at Harry. The boy gulped wordlessly, eyes as round as saucers. Harry couldn’t bring himself to move away.   
“Liam.” Harry said softly, all thoughts he had of cleaning up the mess now gone. The warmth of the barista’s hand beneath his own, as finely structured as he imagined, kinda stalled any other action “Is that your aforementioned roommate, then?”  
“Yes.” he said weakly, still halfheartedly scrubbing with his right hand. “Yep, Liam. Li Li. Leemo. That’s him.”  
“If Liam’s his name, what’s yours?” Harry asked, unable to stop himself. Sure, he probably shouldn’t have. Especially since Harry had a niggling feeling that “roommate” could stand for “boyfriend”, given the many cute nicknames the barista gave the guy. Harry had said he was lucky for working in this shop, but that wasn’t entirely true. This Liam bloke was lucky if he got to see the beautiful barista every single day. But Harry had already done a few thing he shouldn’t have today, so why not one more? 

(And as much as Harry didn’t want to admit it, mostly he just wanted to put a name to the face that was causing his heart to beat like a drum).

 

***

“Louis Tomlinson.” Louis said shakily. He vaguely wondered if he’d ever wash his hand after this experience. Or if he’d chop it off as a constant reminder that it actually happened. The actor’s hand was warm and large, totally encompassing his own. At the sound of Louis’ name, he gave a huge smile, flashing even, white teeth. The hand that wasn’t giving Louis heart palpitations scrambled to pick up the book resting on his knee, holding it up for him to inspect the title. At long last, his grip loosened, and Louis managed to work his hand free, rapidly wiping up the spilled coffee and then flinging the damp towel into the sink. Turning back around, Louis looked at the book on Harry Styles’ hand, his eyes widening in horror as he saw the title. 

“Is this yours?” Harry said excitedly, his sunglasses nearly falling off his face. “I saw the name in the front: does it belong to you?”

You bet it did. Louis’ much beloved copy of _Angel’s Cry_ was a recurring joke (and point of controversy) between Louis and Liam. Every few weeks, it would make it’s way from Louis’ bedside table onto a shelf in _Grounds for Thought_. Liam’s MO was to either make Louis tear the place apart looking for the book, or it’d be sold by accident. It was part of Liam’s attempt to make Louis get over his “obsession,” but all it did was give Louis a good deal of stress. And now, here he stood, with Harry Styles himself trying to buy the damned thing. Which meant he had to sell it, because how the fuck was Louis meant to deny Harry Styles anything?  
“Yeah, it’s mine.” Louis said minutely, feeling sweat break out on the back of his neck. “Or- or-it was. Before I donated it here. We were running low on books once, and-and I gave to the cause.”

_What am I even saying_. 

“You must’ve really liked it at one point, though.” Harry said, slowly skimming through the pages, his smile widening as underlined passages appeared.   
“Childhood favourite.” Louis confirmed, his eyelashes clumping together as he blinked. “But- but I’m sure it’ll have a great home with you.”  
“Yeah, I’ll take good care of it.” Harry replied with a grin, shoving his sunglasses back through his curly hair.  
“I’ll ring you up now.” Louis mumbled, still fiddling with the cuff of his sweater. “Unless you want more coffee...since you didn’t get to drink that other cup.”  
“That’d be excellent.” Harry said with a nod. “The coffee was more of an excuse for me to get out of the hotel, and I’ve done that now.”  
Louis nodded, unsure of how to respond, and he turned on his heels. The movie star followed him to the cash register, not batting an eye at the shredded novel still lying on the till.   
“£2.50, for both the book and the coffee, please.” Louis said breathlessly, pushing a hand through his fringe to get it out of his eyes. After this, he was going to invest in an entire lifetime’s supply of gel. Harry nodded and patted his pockets for his wallet. Louis tried not to stare as he moved, feeling his mouth dry.   
“Do you take credit?” Harry asked quietly, flicking his eyes upward to look at Louis’ face. “I’m an idiot, and I haven’t got pounds-”  
“That’s fine!” Louis said hurriedly, taking the proffered credit card from Harry Styles’ hand. Their fingertips brushed together, the actor’s warm skin bleeding into Louis’ chilled. Louis swiped it on the machine, printing out a receipt and handing it to Harry to sign. A distant part of Louis’ brain almost laughed at that. If this was any other situation, Harry might’ve been signing an autograph for Louis. But alas, they were in this situation, and nobody had referenced that Harry Styles was at all famous yet, so Louis definitely wasn’t gonna do it now. There was silence for a few moments as Louis put the book (his book) into a plastic bag and handed it to Harry, but then it was broken with,   
“So, I’m assuming you’ve seen the film.”  
“Hhmm?” Louis gulped, his head jolting up to look at the actor again. “Film?”

_Oh no_. 

“The film adaption of _Angel’s Cry_. Was it faithful to the novel? Did you enjoy it?” Harry asked, looking into his bag. For the first time, he seemed almost- bashful. The entire time he’d been in the shop, he’d had no trouble with making eye contact with Louis, but now, he couldn’t manage it. And if the barista looked closer (if that was possible), he saw that Harry’s cheeks were stained pink. Oddly, this put Louis’ somewhat at ease. At least, he didn’t feel like he was gonna vomit anymore.   
“One of my favourite films ever.” Louis said truthfully, feeling his insides basically go through a blender as Harry beamed, lighting up the space around him with the strength of his smile. Maybe that vomit was still imminent.   
“One of?” Harry asked, pressing for more. “Does that mean you have a singular favourite?”

Louis knew that they weren’t talking about all films anymore. They weren’t comparing Spielberg to Cameron, or choosing their favourite _Godfather_. Harry Styles was specifically asking Louis Tomlinson what his favourite Harry Styles film was. 

Oh God. Not a difficult question, but still. 

“ _Raoul and Jules_.” Louis half whispered, feeling his voice waver. Harry was looking at him unblinkingly, eyes shining emerald. At the title, he inhaled sharply through his nose, his complexion paling slightly. A cloud passed over his face quickly, darkening his eyes, but then it faded away again, being replaced with another sunny smile.   
“Good choice.” he said, French undertones softening his voice. “Excellent, if I may say so.”  
Louis nodded, his eyes shifting up and down. Harry Styles worked the handle of the plastic bag over his wrist, also pulling the beanie over his ears. He glanced at Louis swiftly, and then stuck his hand out for him to shake. Louis weakly gripped his fingers, once again amazed at the warmth from the actor’s touch.   
“Thank you for all your help.” he said, when Louis didn’t speak first. “I should best be going now, my flight’s leaving soon.”  
“Yeah, of course!” Louis babbled, his head spinning because he was spending his last day in London _here_? Harry dropped his hand, turning from the register and walking over to the door. He pulled it open, the bell jangling overhead. He stepped out the door, the line of his shoulders strong. And then, Harry Styles was turning back, looking at Louis with a mischievous glint in his green eyes.   
“And Louis?” Harry said, suddenly sounding like a French native as Louis’ name rolled off his tongue. “That’s my favourite too.”

And with that, he was gone, shutting the door behind him as a gust of autumnal wind blew inside the shop. Louis stared through the smudged glass as he strode away, his tall figure being swallowed up by the crowd. He blinked slowly, feeling his lungs expand and contract as he tried to breathe. He took ten seconds to at least try to calm down before he let himself panic. 

1

“Oh my god.”

5

“Oh my _fucking_ god.” 

10

“ _OH MY FUCKING GOD._ ” 

***

When Liam returned, he took one look at Louis, set his _MeowMix_ carefully down on the countertop, and then sat Louis himself down for a strong cup of tea. (Because to Brits, that's the answer for all ailments). Now, he stood in front of Louis, with his hands on his hips and a quizzical expression on his face. Louis was sitting in the plushy green armchair in the corner of the shop, hunched over with his mug in his hands. He leaned over the tea, feeling the heat warm his cheeks.   
“Okay, Lou.” Liam said patiently, his thick eyebrows drawn in together in a frown. “Can you go through whatever happened again?”   
“Harry Styles.” Louis mumbled. “In here.”   
“Louis, I think you might be sick.” his roommate said, putting a hand to Louis’ clammy forehead. “Or just plain exhausted….did you fall asleep while I was gone?”   
“Yes, but- but he was here!” Louis said, covering his face with his hands. “In the shop! He bought coffee and my book!”   
“Your book?”   
“ _My copy of Angel’s Cry, Liam!!!_ ” Louis half sobbed, feeling the true hysteria from the encounter rise up in his throat. “ _HE bought it!_ ”   
“Louis, why don't you go lie down?” Liam said sensibly, helping Louis to his feet and putting a comforting arm around his shoulders. “You've been working really hard, and I think it’s getting to you, mate. Go for a long nap, I'll look after the shop for awhile, yeah?”   
“I didn't dream this up, Liam! Harry Styles was in here!”   
“Okay, Louis. I promise I'll wake you up if he comes back.” 

***

_Simon, I think we’ll have the cancel that flight to Australia for tonight_. 

**Harry, you're in a strict schedule...you have an interview on Sydney Sunrise tomorrow morning! Also, where have you been all day??!!!**

_Touring my “home” country. There were some lovely sights to be seen_. 

**Harry, your ass better be on that plane**. 

_Let me live up to my eccentric image for once, yeah?_

**Harry**. 

_Just one more day?_


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spike is wretched.

“ _So...you just didn't leave?_ ” 

Harry scooped another spoonful of omelet into his mouth, pressing his lips together tightly. He chewed slowly, wiping at his lips with a napkin. And then he just shook his head, feeling a small, mischievous smile spread across his cheeks. Because his companion, sitting across from him in their favourite London restaurant, couldn't look more astonished. He blinked at the movie star wonderingly, blue eyes wide, focusing them intently on Harry’s lips when he opened them to speak.   
“Don't look at me like that, Nialler.” he said with another grin. “I can be rebellious when I want to be.”   
“ _Listen, mate, I know that_.” Niall signed back, his hands precise and elegant. “ _Remember that film premiere, where we stole the food and got in loads of trouble with my agent, Stacia? That was all your idea!”_  
“Yeah, she was pissed.” Harry chuckled, raising his glass of water to his lips and taking a sip. He made sure to be quiet, hoping that nobody would come and disturb the tranquility of his and his friend’s brunch. (He didn't have to worry about Niall being quiet though. Every motion the model made was like that of a church mouse. Except when he walked on a runway, he always reminded Harry of a confident cat on the prowl).

Harry had thrown himself on Niall’s mercy last night, evading Simon’s wrath by saying that his best friend was severely ill in his own hotel room, and spending the night there. He’d sworn faithfully that he’d be at the airport that night but…..let’s just say it'd been quite a lovely wake up call that morning: Simon shouting through the phone at him as Harry burrowed into Niall’s duvet, the agent’s normally abrasive voice sounding tinny and far away through the mobile. Which was true, Simon was far away. In Australia. 

The situation had been rectified almost immediately, of course. Simon made a couple calls, somebody was probably fired for not triple checking that Harry Styles on his own personal jumbo jet, bound for Sydney, and Harry was now slotted in for a flight this night. And if Simon’s screeching that morning had been anything to go by, Harry was fairly sure he couldn’t avoid this trip. But it did mean he had today to spend however he wished, with even less supervision that normal, as his entire team were most likely boxing with kangaroos right now or something. 

And Harry was positive of how he wanted to spend today. Right after he finished eating with Niall. The two famous friends were sitting in a chic London diner, _Brouillés_ , which was, funnily enough, the French word for “Scrambled.” This place had started off small, a tiny place in centre-city, but then Harry and Niall had been photographed inside there once a few years ago. Which then lead to Harry mistakenly admitting in an interview that he and his friend loved the diner: they went there every time they were both in London, actually! 

Needless to say, _Brouillés_ was now a London hotspot, with people on the lookout for Niall, and even more so, Harry. The owners of the place loved them both. At least, they loved them enough to smuggle the two friends into the most private booth in the diner: one that even came equipped with curtains that could be drawn around the entire table. They’d even memorized Harry’s order, a Greek omelet. But granted, the entire planet might know that. 

“ _Not as pissed as Simon today_.” Niall said with a wry grin, raising his orange juice to his lips as he continued to sign with one hand. “ _You’re gonna absolutely get it when you land_.”   
“So what?” Harry said with a careless shrug, fighting off the guilt in his stomach. (He hoped somebody hadn’t actually gotten fired for his actions, was all). “Simon can get his knickers in a knot, like normal. I just didn’t want to leave yet, just wanted one day more here: I thought it was a reasonable enough request.”  
“ _But you’re you_.” Niall replied, and Jesus, Harry didn’t know hands could seem sarcastic. “ _You never shirk responsibility, for any reason. Well, unless_ -”

Niall let his hand drop to the table, tilting his head to the side to study Harry. The movie star continued to eat normally, trying to appear nonchalant. But he knew that it was useless. Niall was the absolute master at studying people. He could know exactly how Harry was feeling with a single look, which must come with being deaf. When you didn’t listen to lies that fall from lips, all you could do was observe mannerisms, expressions, to find the truth. Harry chewed slowly, feeling a warm blush crawl up his neck as Niall’s gentle blue eyes studied him. But it only intensified as Niall brought his hand to his chest, drawing a simple heart against his designer shirt.   
“ _You’ve met someone, haven’t you, Haz?_ ” Niall said, grinning wide with delight as Harry ducked his head down, shaking it furiously from side to side. Niall darted his hand across the table, nearly overturning Harry’s water as he gripped his bicep tightly. As always, Harry was amazed by Niall’s gentle touch, amazed that such simple things could perform wonders, could be beautiful, could let Niall communicate everything he wanted to say to those who would look. 

But right now, Niall’s face was saying everything Harry needed to know. He was staring at Harry, his eyes shining with mirth as he fought silent giggles. (Niall could laugh, Harry had heard it on very rare occasions. He just typically held himself back from doing it, because he never know how it’d sound). Niall bit his lip as he looked at Harry, reaching over and pinching his reddened cheek with cold fingers.   
“ _You so have: you’re as red as a tomato_.” Niall then signed as Harry shrugged away from his touch. “ _Or, at least, you’ve got a crush on somebody_.”  
“No.”  
“ _You find someone attractive?_ ”  
“......no.”  
“ _You fucked someone last night and I should probably go clean my hotel sheets?_ ”  
“Jesus, no!” Harry snorted into his food, unable to stop the laugh that bubbled up in his chest. He quickly clapped a hand over his mouth, trying to stifle the sound. Harry’s laugh was a rich, booming cackle, and quite distinctive. A good joke had given him away too many times before.   
“Okay, fine.” Harry continued with a helpless shrug. It was no use trying to hide things from Niall: he always found out in the end. “I ….bunked off yesterday, yeah? Like just left the hotel and did whatever I wanted with the day. And what I wanted was to go to Notting Hill, which I did. And there was this coffeeshop thing, and I really wanted coffee, so I went in.”   
“ _Your story-telling skills never cease to amaze me, Harry_.” Niall teased. “ _I'm sure if I could hear you, I'd be even more impressed_.”   
“Shhh, just listen, Ni.” Harry wheedled, widening his eyes beseechingly. “I went in, and looked around for a bit. I even bought a book, because it sold those too! But anyway...there was this barista there. And I know how cliché this sounds, and I of all people should hate clichés, but- he just seemed really special.”   
“ _A guy, then_?” Niall signed, raising his light eyebrows questioningly. But Harry knew he wasn't judging him. Harry was openly bisexual, had been for ages (there’d been a media shitstorm about it few years ago, right around the time of his first Oscars. That was an interesting couple months for Harry, to say the very least). But Harry tended to curtail his attraction to men to some degree. He would never be papped with a guy, for example. And he hung around with Victoria Secret models at nearly every function he went to, just to reinforce the _hey I like women too!_ image. (Under Simon’s orders, of course). It was all so that the girls of the world- from teenage girls to middle aged mums- could continue on with their Harry Styles daydreams. It didn't bother him really. Not too much. 

Alright, maybe a bit. But Harry digressed. 

“Yeah, named Louis.” Harry replied, feeling a tiny smile tweak his lips upward. “Louis Tomlinson. And he- he was just really lovely. Charming and funny and just a little bit awkward, but it was endearing….And he treated me like a normal bloke, you know? Like, you could tell he was kinda nervous-”   
“ _You have that effect on people, Haz_.”   
“But he still tried his best to make me feel normal. And that was just- really cool.” Harry finished, feeling somewhat lame. “Really, really cool.” 

Niall shook his head disbelievingly, a fond smile on his face. He carefully placed his fork and knife onto the plate, and then patted his mouth with his napkin, signifying that he was finished eating. Harry watched him curiously, wrinkling his brow. Niall looked back at Harry then, his bright blue eyes merry.   
“ _I think the perfect way to digest breakfast is to drink some coffee_.” Niall signed, standing up and shrugging his (purposefully ripped) denim jacket onto his shoulders. “ _Particularly the watered down kind from a Notting Hill bookshop_.”   
Harry blinked dumbly as Niall walked away from their table to pay the bill. And then he was scrambling up, tossing some money down onto the table as a tip for their server. He quickly caught up with Niall, his longer legs matching the model’s shorter ones, and threw an arm around his friend’s shoulders.   
“ It wasn't watered down, you twat.” Harry said affectionately, feeling himself chuckle. Niall watched his lips move again, his gaze steady.   
“ _Look at you, trying to be British with your ‘twats’._ ”   
“Says the Irishman.”   
“ _C'mon, let's go pack up your hotel room, get you ready for the flight, and then we’ll head to this bookshop place_.” 

***

It'd been a day, five hours, and several minutes since The Incident (as Louis will call it forevermore), and Liam had almost managed to convince him that it didn't happen. Like, 93% of Louis now believed that he dreamed up the entire encounter and was also possibly losing his sanity. The other 7% still believed it occurred, simply because Louis has the crumpled receipt from the sale of Angel’s Cry, and coffee stains on his jeans that weren’t there yesterday morning.   
But that 7% is steadily decreasing with every joke Liam made, because after Louis’ initial shock wore off, he deemed it appropriate to tease him mercilessly about it. Like right now, for example. Mallory had dropped into the shop at her normal 5:00 time, and Liam seemed hell-bent on embarrassing Louis to the point of no return. 

“Louis, I know I'm not Harry Styles, but could you get me more tea?” Liam asked teasingly from his seat next to the old woman. They were sitting in the faded green armchairs, Liam and Mallory sharing the love seat (this is why Louis thought he was her favourite). Even Spike joined the party: Mallory was a legitimate cat-whisperer, and the feline was curled up on her lap, purring docilely as her gnarled hands gently scratched under his chin. He hadn't even hissed at Louis yet!

“It’s okay, Louis.” Mallory said as the barista blushed and stood up, leaning over and swiping the empty tea mug. Louis sent a grateful smile her way, taking in once again how beautiful the elderly lady was. She was the kind of woman whose beauty was eternal, and you could tell she’d been stunning when she was younger. Her snow white hair was waist length, held back in two braids, and her blue eyes shone with a mischief and youthful light that no years could diminish. 

Which might explain what Mallory said next. 

“I once thought I saw Cary Grant in Harrods, but it turned out to just be an attractive janitor.” Mallory continued, smiling drolly as Louis turned nearly fuschia and Liam almost fell out off the couch from laughter. “So I can understand what you’re going through.”   
“Just for that, Mallory,” Louis said as he refilled the cups with fresh tea. “I'm making you stir your own sugar.”   
“Oi, I may be old, but I'm not decrepit.” Mallory mock-chided. “I'll stir your sugar, sweetie.”   
Louis chuckled as he sat back down in his armchair, knowing she didn't really mean it. He turned so he was sitting sideways, his neck being support by the arm. He shut his eyes, enjoying the companionable silence between the three of them and the smell of tea bags seeping. Pages of a book rustled, their words whispering teasingly back and forth to one another, so Louis assumed that Mallory must’ve delved into her most recent find. Mallory read absolutely _everything_ : from horror to classics to poetry. Louis had never encountered a reader quite like her. 

“I think I'm gonna go shower before class tonight.” Liam said after a while of silence, getting up from his seat. He said goodbye to Mallory, the old lady pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, and then scratched Spike’s ears. The cat raised his head and halfheartedly nosed into Liam’s palm, giving a loud purr. (Was it literally just Louis that demon hated?) And then Liam looked at Louis, giving a wry grin.   
“And Lou? If Angelina Jolie comes in, get me out of the shower immediately.”   
“Shove off.” Louis mumbled back, raising his arms over his head and stretching until his shoulders popped. “We all know you want Brad just as badly.”   
Liam flushed, his ears pinkening, and Louis stuck his tongue at him. His roommate then went upstairs to the flat, so it was just Mallory and Louis left: But not for long, because she only ever stayed an hour, and the clock above Louis’ head was chiming six. Right on cue, Mallory stood, gathering her many bags in her arms as Spike jumped off her lap. Louis too got up, walking the old woman to the door of the shop. He’d offered to walk her home nearly every night since she started coming to _Grounds_ , but she never accepted. She liked the independence, he supposed.   
“Lovely to see you, as ever, Mal.” Louis said cheerily as she hugged him, her flowery perfume enveloping him. “Even if you did join in my ridicule.”   
“What fun would I be, if I didn't?” she responded, pinching his cheek with ringed fingers. “Ah, I love coming here. You two boys keep me young.”   
“Well, I'm pretty sure you keep us in business, Mallory.” Louis joked (not really). “So I hope that's a fair trade.”   
“It most certainly is.” Mallory replied, leaning down to give Spike one last petting. He was wound around her ankles, meowing balefully at her loss. Louis opened the front door and Mallory stepped through it, waving goodbye cheerfully. Louis watched as she went further and further away, her walk elegant despite her age. But really, he should’ve been watching someone else. 

Because Spike took one look at Louis, saw the door to freedom wide open, and then bolted out of the shop as fast as his paws could carry him. 

Louis stared out the front door in shock, watching the orange furball streak further and further away. He shook his head, considering closing the door and saying “Good riddance.” If the ungrateful mongrel wanted to run away, let him! It would mean much less annoyance, stress, and pain for Louis. But as he stood there, he heard the water of the shower running above him, Liam’s voice cheery as he sang bits and pieces of pop songs while shampooing. Louis gritted his teeth together, preparing himself for what he had to now go do.   
“Liam loves that damn animal.” he muttered to himself, stepping outside into the evening air and shutting the shop door behind him before he could change his mind. 

***

Harry glanced upward, looking at the ominous gray clouds gathering above his head. He was standing outside a cologne shop in Notting Hill: after haphazardly packing up his hotel room, he and Niall had come to the neighborhood. But for the life of him, Harry couldn't find that coffeeshop a second time. He couldn't even remember the name, so he and Niall had been vainly searching for a faded blue building that smelled like coffee and had a corny chalkboard outside it. 

After looking for hours with no luck, they decided to pack it in and Niall went inside this shop to buy more cologne. (He was sorta obsessed with the stuff). Harry decided to stay outside, because he was less likely to get noticed that way, and he wanted to mull over the afternoon by himself. He was almost convinced he’d dreamed up the entire encounter with the barista. Like, 93% convinced. Did the ground just open up and swallow that coffeeshop whole after Harry vacated it? Was it like the Room of Requirement in _Harry Potter_ and only appeared when you needed it? 

Was Harry really so lonely that he totally imagined having an instant connection with a stranger?

Such were Harry’s thoughts as he stood there, waiting for his friend. And just then, a lone cat wandered around the corner of the store, looking pathetic. Harry blinked in surprise, looking at the animal with concern. It obviously wasn't a stray: it was too well-groomed and plump for that. However, the cat’s orange fur was tangled and dusty, as if he’d been wandering around outside for awhile. Harry squatted down and slowly extended a hand toward the tomcat, letting him curiously sniff his fingers. He nudged at them feebly, his nose warm and tongue dry.   
“There now, you poor thing.” Harry crooned, petting the cat tenderly as he butted his head against Harry’s knee, meowing feebly. “Who let you out in this weather, eh? It’s cold out here, and looks like rain!”   
Reaching under his chin, Harry was unsurprised to find a collar, and he swiveled it toward himself, narrowing his eyes to read the engraving.   
“There now, Spike.” the movie star said, watching the cat’s ears prick up at the sound of his name. Spike hesitantly crawled into Harry’s lap, the tip of his tail tickling Harry’s chin. He purred loudly, pressing his face into his sweater, and Harry grinned crookedly, putting his arms fully around the animal and standing up.   
“Let’s get you home, yeah? Somebody’s probably losing their mind with worry about you!” 

***

“SPIKE.” Louis screeched as he ran through the crowded streets of Notting Hill, shoving his way through the hordes of people. “ _SPIKE_.”   
Louis reached the end of his street and paused by the final building, leaning against it to try and catch his breath and gather his thoughts. Spike was most likely following Mallory, and she went right at this intersection. Louis wheezed, feeling tightness in his chest from his run. God, he was so out of shape.   
“You're not bloody worth it.” he huffed out, putting his head between his knees and trying to breath evenly. “Just come fucking back, you mongrel.”   
With a long suffering sigh, Louis started up again, going at a jog this time. He narrowed his eyes as he turned right, trying to see anything that would lead him to the cat’s whereabouts. Where the fuck was all the orange fur that Spike left everywhere? Shouldn’t that be like a _Hansel and Gretel_ kinda thing? One thing was for sure, Louis’ life was currently the opposite of a fairytale.   
“Liam better realize what I'm doing for him.” Louis gasped as he moved, his shitty trainers slapping against the concrete of the footpath. He wasn’t dressed appropriately for this weather at all. At least he was reaching the less populated streets of Notting Hill, the places where tourists were less likely to go. Spike had probably found some hidey-hole to curl up in, because he, like all cats, hated the rain. He was nice and dry in some box somewhere, while Louis was shivering, soaked, and risking heart failure to find him. 

The barista kept jogging through the rain, losing hope as he went. The storm was worsening, heavy raindrops falling from the sky and crawling down Louis’ back. As he rounded yet another street corner, Louis bowed his head to shield his eyes from the downpour. Which was a big mistake, because his sight was the only thing keep him upright, at this point. Louis skidded on his heels, his trainers having no traction against the slick pavement. He threw out an arm to try and save himself, but then slammed it against a lamppost. And finally, Louis looked back up, catching sight of bright orange fur as he slammed into whoever was holding Spike. But he caught sight of something else too. Right as he and the cat rescuer fell to the ground, he saw vivid green eyes and curly hair. 

Louis now knew exactly who was holding Spike.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So essentially....I'm terrible and haven't been writing....
> 
> Please tell me your thoughts!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tea bag scented skin and bandages

Harry hit the ground with a thug, seeing stars as the back of his head slammed into the pavement. The stranger landed on top of him, his hands braced around either side of Harry’s shoulders to stop himself from lying completely on top of the movie star. Spike was smushed between their two bodies, and he twisted vigorously to free himself, yowling right in Harry’s ear. He winced at the sound, feeling a dull ache begin to pound in his temples. 

“Jesus _fucking_ Christ.” Harry’s companion said, his voice getting higher with every word. Through the haze that currently hung over Harry’s brain, the voice registered. Doncaster accent…..the Donny boy….the barista!!!! (Harry couldn’t remember his name right now). But it was definitely him: that voice was way too distinctive. From somewhere in his memory, he remembered a cat yowling in the shop yesterday, which must’ve been Spike. Okay, so now Harry has some kind of grip on this situation. 

 

Blinking a few times, Harry looked directly upward, now nose to nose with the boy. He was staring down at him in utter shock, blue eyes wide as saucers. It looked like the severity of the situation was hitting him right now. The poor bloke must've thought Harry Styles was gonna charge him with assault, and then sue him for everything he possessed. 

“I am so, _so_ sorry.” he whispered with evident horror, his voice hoarse. “The cat- Spike- He- he ran away, and I went to get him, but-” 

“I beat you to it.” Harry said slowly, feeling himself chuckle. The barista blanched, his face whitening as he looked down and saw his body pressed against Harry’s. Then he scrambled off, almost popping his knees out of their sockets as he rolled to the side. Harry’s torso was hit with a fresh gust of wind and sheet of rain, and he shivered, his teeth chattering together. The tomcat was still curled up on Harry’s chest, sitting on his haunches like he was ready to pounce. 

“Here, lemme- uh- do you need-can I help you up?” the barista- _Louis_ \- said. (He knew he'd get there eventually!) Harry went to shake his head no, but then had to shut his eyes at the pain that simple motion brought. It felt like his brain had detached from its stem and was rolling around freely in his skull. He let out a shallow breath, deciding to take the help offered him. 

“ _Oui_ ,” Harry saih weakly, unable to stop his French in that moment. “ _Pouvez-vous tenir le chat?_ ” 

 

From what Harry knew, Louis wasn't fluent in French, but he seemed to understand what he said to some extent. Reaching over to Spike, Louis put both hands around his middle and hauled him over to sit on his lap. Which, if you know anything about cats, is the absolute worst place to touch them. Their stomach is one of the most sensitive parts of their body, so Harry wasn't really surprised by what happened next. 

 

“ _SWEET JESUS_.” Louis screamed as Spike hissed in his face and then raked his claws down the barista’s cheekbone. From where he lay, Harry could see three thin lines across the boy’s skin, already oozing blood. Louis’ hands sprang away from the cat and he pressed his palms against his cheek, wincing in pain. Spike bolted away from Louis and went to sit by Harry’s head, his tail swaying back and forth menacingly. 

“ Oi, protectin’ him, are ya?” Louis snapped at the animal. “As if _I'm_ the bloody threat here.” 

“Well,” Harry said, his voice gravelly. “You are bleeding.” 

 

The movie star began to laugh at his own joke, his distinctive booming cackle filling the stormy air. Normally, he'd try to stop himself, to not draw attention to himself, but it was no use. The true hilarity (but also severity) of this situation was hitting Harry, and he dissolved into hysteria. Through his laughter, he could see the barista watching him, clapping a hand to his forehead. 

“I've probably fucking concussed you.” Louis said, almost inaudible. “Okay, game plan: let's get out of the rain, yeah? My flat...my store...my place is just down the street, I think we can get there relatively easily.” 

 

Louis moved toward Harry on his knees, as if to help him up, but then abruptly stopped, a fearful look crossing his face. He glanced between Harry and Spike, biting his lip in thought. And then he leaned down and put an arm around Harry’s shoulders, helping him slowly sit up. Harry shut his eyes as the world reoriented itself, feeling vaguely nauseous. The barista extended a hand toward Spike, not quite touching him. 

“I won't hurt him.” Louis said aloud as he helped the movie star to his feet, looking nervous as Harry staggered around blearily for a few steps. 

“I know you won't, he's kinda yours, right?” Harry said thickly, his tongue feeling heavy in his mouth as he glanced down at Spike, now at his heels. 

“I was talking to the cat.” 

 

Harry chuckled lowly, beginning to meander forward, leaning heavily on Louis’ arm beneath his shoulders. Their mismatched legs awkwardly found a rhythm as they fell into stride. Spike streaked ahead of them, his tail now jauntily up in the air and waving like a flag. They moved in silence for a few moments, Harry closing his eyes every couple seconds to alleviate his headache. 

“I am so, _so_ sorry.” Louis repeatedly fervently. “I never meant for any of this to happen, Spike is the bane of my existence, you don’t even know the half of it...well, I’m sure you do, now, after this encounter-”

“ ‘S okay.” Harry mumbled, gluing his eyes to his feet so he didn’t trip. “I’m okay...your cheek okay?”

“Hmm?” The barista said absently, glancing up at him with wide eyes. Harry didn’t respond for a few seconds, getting caught up in their blueness. From this close, he could see that they were flecked with gray and gray at the iris. Reaching over, Harry gently tapped the boy’s cut cheekbone with his fingertips, wiping away a smudge of dirt and blood. 

“This one.” Harry replied quietly, his foggy brain deeming it necessary to clarify where exactly Louis was wounded. 

“ ‘M okay.” Louis said breathlessly, his voice sounding tight. “Yeah, I’m okay….let’s walk faster, yeah? The rain’s getting heavier.”

 

***

 

Louis was possibly the farthest from okay than he ever has been in his entire life. However, superstar Harry Styles didn’t need to know this fact. The walk (more like hobble) to _Grounds_ was torturous. With every sodden step closer to his home, Louis wanted to sink into the footpath and disappear forever. Not to mention, the celebrity was surprisingly heavier than Lou expected. He might’ve always appeared willowy and lanky, but there was some discreet muscle mass there….which was a fact that barista Louis Tomlinson didn’t need to know. 

 

“Here we are.” Louis said weakly as they reached his front door at long last. He slipped his arm away from Harry and then put his hand on the door knob, praying it was open. Jiggling it up and down a few times, he thanked God for his mis precaution as it swung open. Louis stepped back and gestured for Harry to enter. Spike leapt up the three stone steps in a single bound, but Harry staggered up, his motions slow. The movie star went inside and Louis leaned against the wall of the shop, taking ten seconds to close his eyes and just breathe. 

 

“Grow a set, Tommo.” He muttered to himself, gritting his teeth and entering _Grounds for Thought_ after Harry. Instantly the warmth of the store enveloped him, beginning to dry his damp clothes. Louis quickly unzipped his jacket and hung it up on the hook by the door, scrunching the ends of his sweater in his fists to wring out the wetness from them. (He didn’t want to think about how his hair would dry after this). And finally, Louis looked up, seeing Harry just standing there in the center of the shop, looking unsure. 

“It’s as nice as I remember.” Harry said, offering Louis a weak smile. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets, and he rocked back and forth on his heels for a few seconds, glancing around himself. 

“Do you want to sit?” Louis blurted out. “You don’t seem too-steady, and there’s like...couches and stuff.”

“Sounds good to me.” Harry replied, and Louis led the way towards the same furniture he’d been sitting on with Mallory and Liam not half an hour ago. What even was his life?

 

_Please don’t sit in the loveseat, because then I’ll look like a tit if I don’t sit beside you and_

 

“Couches like this are great!” Harry said, trying to sound enthusiastic as he sank down onto the left side of the loveseat. He rested his head on the pillow behind him, closing his eyes and holding a hand to his forehead. 

“Do you want some Advil?” Louis asked, regaining some of his wits. “And- and tea, maybe?”

“That sounds wonderful.” Harry said, opening his eyes and giving Louis another smile. The barista felt his stomach drop out from underneath him as those damn dimples flashed. He whirled around on his heels and walked away before he could say something else stupid. 

 

Soon enough, the tea had boiled and Louis was back, a first aid kit in hand, just in case Harry needed it. He put the mug down on the coffee table next to the movie star and then perched himself on the couch next to Harry, keeping a good foot of space, (and the first aid kit), between them. They sat in silence for a few minutes before both of them spoke at once. 

“How’s your head?”

“How’s your cheek?”

 

Harry chuckled and gestured for Louis to speak first. Feeling his face heat up with a blush, Louis cleared his throat and then tried again. 

“Is your head okay? I mean, you can see straight, yeah? And you don’t feel sleepy or woozy or anything?” He asked. (Louis might have done a quick WebMD search of “Concussion Symptoms.”) 

“Yeah, I’m fine. The Advil and tea are doing the trick.” Harry said, his deep voice sounding oddly musical. “It’s you I’m more worried about, with that scrape and all. Actually-”

 

With these words, the moviestar reached down and cracked open the kit, rustling around inside. He sifted through a couple rolls of gauze, plasters, and thermometers before he found what he wanted: antiseptic wipes. At the sound of Harry ripping it open, Spike leapt up on the couch and wormed his way into Harry’s lap. 

“Oi, it’s not for you.” Harry said affectionately, batting Spike’s nose away with his free hand. “It’s for Louis, and you’re the reason he’s hurt at all.”

 

 _You talk to cats now too? And please, please never say my name like that again_. 

 

Louis expected Harry Styles to just hand him the wipe and let him take care of business himself. So, imagine his utmost surprise when a gentle, warm hand landed on his chin, tilting his face upward. Louis blinked in shock, feeling his eyes widen. His mouth probably would’ve been hanging open too if Harry hadn’t been holding him near it. 

“May I?” He asked quietly, pressing the pad of his thumb against Louis’ swollen cheekbone. The barista nodded wordlessly, not sure of his heart was beating any longer. Harry guided Louis’ face to the side, angling his head to the cut was clearly visible. The pain had dulled to a steady ache, throbbing in time to Louis’ pulse. 

“This may hurt.” He cautioned, his warm breath tickling Louis’ skin. Louis didn’t say anything in response, and Harry pressed the antiseptic pad against the claw marks, tenderly wiping away the grime to clean it out. It stung like hell, and Louis hissed in a breath between his teeth, trying to fight a wince. Harry gave a small smile, then rummaging around in the first aid kit again. Withdrawing a Hello Kitty plaster, he carefully unpeeled it and pressed it against Louis’ cheek. 

 

It seemed like time froze in that moment, cliche as it was. Harry finished with the band-aid, but kept his hand cupping Louis’ face, the warmth of his skin bleeding into Louis. Not sure what exactly was happening, Louis finally looked up, getting lost in the green eyes boring into his own. He swallowed nervously, wetting his dry lips with his tongue, and tried to ignore the fact that Harry definitely tracked that movement. 

“ _Céleste_.” Harry whispered, the pad of his thumb pressing against Louis’ bottom lip. “ _Yeux célestes, sourire céleste, vous êtes….céleste_.”

“I-I-” Louis mumbled unsteadily. “I- don’t know what that means.”

 

Harry looked into Louis’ eyes one more time, a change crossing over his face. Abruptly, he dropped his hands from Louis’ cheeks, sitting backwards. A wrinkle appeared between his eyebrows, furrowing the tanned skin, and Louis looked at him hopelessly, his stomach churning. What was happening?

 

***

 

“How old are you?” Harry asked, not looking at his companion. He could feel the tension between them, could sense his confusion. Harry himself was confused. It felt like he’d momentarily lost his mind for the past half hour, and maybe he had, given the jolt he’d taken on the pavement. All he knew was that he’d been about to kiss Louis: the barista, the boy. He’d wanted to kiss him so badly, it’d nearly hurt. Which was kinda frightening, as Harry never wanted that. 

 

He just had a _thing_ about first kisses. A weird kind of hang-up. Possibly because his own first kiss with anyone had occurred on the set of _Angel’s Cry_ , in front of an entire camera crew and everything. There’d been makeup and lighting and a goddamn green screen. Ever since then, Harry had never been into the whole “movie star kiss” trope. You know, the kiss that you wait the entire film for and never lasts long enough? Because they never really show you what happens after the kiss: the reality of the situation. For this reason, Harry didn’t kiss in any situation that could appear at all public. He’d been papped too many times, and having an intimate moment like that, a moment that was supposed to be sweet at it’s essence, shouldn’t be photographed for the entire planet to see. 

 

And especially not with this… _delicate_ creature. He seemed almost painfully virginal: Harry wasn’t entirely sure if Louis had ever been kissed by anybody. Which would officially make Harry Villain of the Year, (as he’d been voted by _Style_ Magazine last year, oddly enough). Harry Styles definitely didn’t want to be that guy. 

 

“Nineteen.” Louis answered defensively, sitting up straighter and chucking his chin forward. Harry could see a steeliness entering his liquid blue eyes, the habitual determination of someone who was used to being told they weren’t good enough. He’d seen that look on his own face a lot when he was younger, fame hungry and desperate to prove everyone wrong that yes, he actually could do this. It’d been paramount at the Oscars three years ago, which Harry is pretty sure he’ll always cringe about the result of _Raoul and Jules_. 

 

“Old enough.” Louis continued, glancing around himself at their surrounds. Harry watched him gaze at all the bookshelves, affection blurring his gaze momentarily. He straightened his spine even more, as if daring Harry to judge him, his home, or anything else. It hit the movie star that perhaps _Grounds for Thought_ was Louis’ Oscar win: His affirmation that he could do anything. 

 

“Yes, I would say so.” Harry said with an uncomfortable smile, shifting backward from his close proximity to the barista. Louis’ eyes flicked up and down his form, and Harry patted his jean’s pockets, searching for something to do. 

“I better be going.” Harry said at last, reaching forward and putting his tea mug properly on it’s coaster. “There’s a flight tonight that I need to catch, or I might actually be murdered, and my friend is probably wondering where I got off to.”

Louis nodded once, standing up. He picked up Harry’s mug, the set of his shoulders tense, and then brought the mug over to the sink. Harry watched him move, an odd sadness in his chest. He’d somehow hurt this beautiful boy. Already. 

 

“Umm...before you go-” Louis said nervously as Harry shrugged his jacket back on his shoulders. Harry glanced at him immediately, zipping it up to his neck. “Before you go...could we get a photograph together? I know you get asked that all the time and that you most likely hate it but….”

Here, Louis bit his lip and looked at his feet. He shifted his weight from side to side anxiously and then looked at Harry, a determined expression on his angular face. 

“I’d say I’m pretty damn lucky to have met you twice, and you’re actually my favourite actor ever, and nobody will ever believe me about this unless I get photographic evidence. Especially not my roommate.”

 

At the word _roommate_ , Harry physically blanched. He’d forgotten entirely about that, Louis’ probable boyfriend who was most likely upstairs, waiting for Louis to crawl into bed beside him. Thank God Harry hadn't kissed him then, because with his luck, the Liam fella would’ve walked downstairs and then told the tabloids about how Harry Styles seduced his beloved, lovely boyfriend. 

“Yeah, sure, mate!” Harry said somewhat stiffly, waiting as Louis fumbled in his pockets to get his mobile phone. The barista crept closer to him, holding the phone out, and Harry took it, their fingers accidentally brushing once again.They hesitated for a few seconds before Harry put his arm fully around the boy’s skinny shoulders. He was adorably shorter than Harry, and his skin smelled like tea bags. Jesus Christ. And just because Harry literally couldn’t help himself, as he reversed the camera so they could take a selfie, he said, 

“Anything to make a boyfriend jealous, right?”

 

Louis choked slightly, looking up at Harry in horror. He gaped at him, his mouth opening and closing a few times, and he shook his head hurriedly. 

“Liam? You mean…..the roommate? No, no, definitely not, no, he’s like my brother, no.”

“Oh, alright.” Harry said, smiling slightly at the boy’s endearing negations. He pulled him closer, extending his hand with the phone in it out further to get them both in the frame. 

“Ready?” he asked, glancing at Louis. The barista nodded, looking tense at Harry’s proximity. 

“On three, then?” he asked. “You wanna count it?”

Harry blinked in aquesiance, getting lost in his beautiful features.. He was so close, his lips looked so full, his skin must be so soft, and Jesus, those damn eyes. Harry wasn’t sure if he even remembered how to count to three in English, so he didn’t. 

 

_“Un.”_

_“Deux.”_

_“Trois.”_

 

***

On 3, Louis smiled big for the camera flash, hoping his didn’t look as weak as he felt. This was the only picture he’d probably ever get with Harry Styles anyway. But his smile slipped away into surprise as Harry turned to the side, cupping Louis’ unhurt cheek with a warm, tender hand. And then there were no seconds left as Harry leaned in, pressing his lips to Louis’.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy! French translations in end notes: please let me know what you think! <3 Commentd, kudos, and bookmarks are always appreciated!

Louis stiffened in shock for a few moments, his entire body tensing up. Against him, Harry slowed his motions, probably trying to gauge the younger boy’s reaction. The barista stumbled backward a couple steps, until his back was pressed against the door of _Grounds for Thought_. Harry continued to kiss him, one hand still resting on his cheek, his fingers now curled inwards so his knuckles grazed Louis’s skin. Distantly, Louis heard his phone fall from Harry’s loose grasp and clatter to the floor, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except the fact that _Harry fucking Styles was kissing him_. 

His initial shock wearing off, Louis did the only thing that made any sense: he started to kiss Harry Styles back. His instincts took over and he reached up, cording his fingers through the movie star’s chocolate brown curls. They were insanely soft, almost slipping through his grip entirely. Slowly, Louis’s other hand reached up to rest against Harry’s broad chest, the warmth of his skin seeping into Louis’s hand, even through his shirt. 

_God, the amount of times I’ve imagined this…_

Harry’s mouth was soft against Louis’s, just a gentle pressure. He opened and parted it slowly, almost methodically, as if he was analyzing the best way to make Louis’s knees go weak. His lips were warm and smooth, his tongue tantalizingly running across Louis’s bottom lip, silently coaxing him to open his mouth.   
Harry smelled like sandalwood and wax candles. He tasted like the tea that Louis had just made, and underneath that, Spearmint toothpaste, of all things. Louis shivered slightly, knowing he’d never be able to use that brand again without thinking of this. 

_Oh dear God help me_

Harry now cupped Louis’s other cheek, framing his face with his broad hands. Louis leaned into the touch, beginning to kiss back more insistently. He desperately tried to remember the last time he’d been kissed, tried to remember if he’d even been any good at it. But given how hard Louis had been working in the past year, how single minded his focus had been, how much romance had been on the backburner, he honestly couldn’t remember. 

Harry hummed into his mouth appreciatively as Louis’s original reticence disappeared. The barista now gripped his shirt tight, pulling Harry Styles closer, but he knew he’d never been close enough. How many people had kissed these lips? How many more people had dreamed of it?

Louis felt his head spin as Harry framed him in his arms, pressing his palms flat against the door of the shop. A distant, still sane part of Louis’s brain prayed that nobody was trying to get inside for a cup of coffee to escape the rain, but all thought processes were pushed aside as their chests clumsily bumped together, Harry leaning down slightly to deepen the kiss even further. Heat pooled in Louis’s stomach suddenly, years and years of desire flaring up within him, half-forgotten fantasies now front and center. 

_This isn’t happening this isn’t happening this isn’t happening_

* * * 

Harry ran a hand through the barista’s hair, giving into the temptation to touch it that he’d felt ever since he’d seen Louis sitting behind the counter. It was as silky as he’d imagined it to be then. Louis now gripped Harry’s own hair even tighter, almost to the point of pain, but Harry never would’ve stopped him. His mouth was warm, smaller than Harry’s, but slotting in between his lips perfectly. His lips were plumper than Harry’s as well, and he couldn’t resist nipping at them with his teeth every so often. 

Harry had tried many addictive things. Being in his industry, it was nearly impossible to avoid. He’d be at an award show after party and he’d have one drink too many and then somebody would pass him some pill and he’d stupidly take it, just because there was no one around to stop him. It was all fun, really, Harry had never felt in danger in any of those situations. And afterwards, no matter how good or bad the various substances had made him feel, he knew none of them were worth getting addicted to. All the tabloids claimed that they saw him checking into rehabilitation centers every other weekend, but honestly, Harry was completely in control of what he chose to consume.

But this? Kissing Louis Tomlinson? 

Harry could see himself getting wholly and completed addicted to this. 

Above their heads, Harry heard the creaking of floorboards, accompanied by the sound of closet doors opening and closing. It must be the infamous Liam, getting ready to come back downstairs to see where his roommate had gotten to. Harry didn’t particularly care if this happened, he wouldn’t have cared if Queen Elizabeth came through the door and saw him in this compromising position, but Louis obviously did. He put a feeble hand on Harry’s chest, his body tensing underneath Harry’s gentle touch. Slowly, as much as he didn’t want to, Harry pulled away from the kiss, looking down at his companion. His cheeks were flushed bright pink, his lips red and rubbed raw, and a manic light was in those blue eyes, making Harry grin. He gazed back at Harry unblinkingly as they both breathed heavily, trying to calm their heart rates. 

“ _J’ai besoin de vous revoir._ ” Harry whispered, forgetting that Louis wouldn’t understand the words. “ _S’il te plait laisse moi._ ”

Louis blinked uncomprehendingly, his mouth opening and closing a few times. He then pressed his lips together tightly, biting down on the bottom one. His eyes flicked to Harry’s mouth again, and he knew they were having the same thought. Poor Liam, whoever he was, would just have to wait a while longer. But right as Harry stooped down to kiss him again, his mobile phone rang. 

Both boys jolted as Harry’s phone blared out _The Imperial March_ from _Star Wars_. Simon’s ringtone. How lovely. Louis wobbled away from Harry, increasing the distance between their two bodies. Harry hurriedly reached into his jeans’ pocket, pulling out his iPhone and hitting “Talk.”

“Yes Simon?” Harry said by way of greeting, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. He could feel the barista’s eyes fixated on him, could feel his uncertainty, and an uncomfortable blush rose up on Harry’s cheeks. Of course Simon had to call right now. After his flight to Australia had been sorted out, he hadn’t contacted Harry all day, and he chose _now_ to break the silence. 

“Hello to you, Harry.” Simon said stiffly. “I was just calling to check that you were making tracks to the airport. You know that “Sydney Sunrise” won’t reschedule your interview a second time.”

“Yes, I’m well aware.” Harry replied, annoyance creeping through him. “And how gracious I should be tomorrow, given that they were oh so kind to reschedule in the first place.”

“Exactly.” Simon said flatly, no amusement in his voice whatsoever. “You are on your way to the airport, correct?”

“Yes, I’ll be there in about forty-five minutes, traffic’s heavy.” Harry lied easily, not feeling even the slightest twinge of guilt. “I’ll text you when I’m on board.”

“Make sure you do.” Simon said coolly as he hung up. Harry glared down at his dark phone screen, biting back a slew of curses. He slipped the mobile back into his pocket, turning back to look at the barista. He was looking at Harry worriedly, his brow furrowed. Harry forced an uncomfortable smile, feeling the blatant awkwardness between them. Now the utter spontaneity of his actions seemed less romantic and more insane by the second. Louis shifted his weight from side to side, fisting his hands through the long sleeves of his jumper. The damn Hello Kitty plaster was still on his cheek, making Harry’s lips twitch in endearment. 

“I- I thought your flight was yesterday.” Louis stammered, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. 

“It was.” Harry said ruefully, rubbing the back of his neck. “I- I missed it.”

The words Harry didn’t say hung heavy in the air between them, nearly breaking free of his lips. _I missed it on purpose to see you again_. 

“Ah.” Louis said simply, not looking at the movie star anymore. Harry felt the familiar weight in his chest appear at Louis’s clear embarrassment. Slowly, the invisible walls were going back up. Harry was becoming a celebrity, a mere persona, all over again. “Where you headed?”

“Australia.” Harry replied, deciding to be honest. He couldn’t act nonchalant about it anymore, it’s not like Louis didn’t know he was famous. He might as well lean into the curve. “I’ve got some work to do there…interviews, like. A majority of the next film I’m in is shooting in Sydney.”

“Lucky you.” Louis said weakly. “The seasons are reversed there, right? So it’ll be becoming summer?”

“Yes.” Harry responded, feeling like he’d been kicked in the gut as he realized that Louis might’ve never left Britain. Here Harry was, talking about jetting around the world, as if it was commonplace. No wonder people felt isolated from him: he was part of the problem, if he talked like that.

“Lucky me.” Harry repeated, making swift eye contact with the barista once more. His entire face flushed pink, but he didn’t break it, looking back at Harry with a doggedness that he couldn’t help but admire. He was fiery, this one. They kept looking at each other, neither one breathing, until Harry’s phone buzzed with another text. 

“ _Fuck_ ” Harry snapped, pulling it back out. He flicked his eyes downwards, reading the text message that light up the screen. It was from Niall. 

_Look mate, I’ve bought nearly half this cologne shop, and you really need to get on the flight or else Simon will probably skin you and roast you in the Barbie, as Aussies like to say_

Harry looked back up, an apology forming on his lips. But from the look on Louis’s face, he realized it wasn’t necessary. Harry couldn’t quite place what the look was, but he knew it meant one thing: whatever this had been was now done. Louis was nodding quickly, moving out of Harry’s personal space. He walked over to the coat hooks on the wall, grabbing Harry’s for him. Harry fought a smile at how he had to go up on his tiptoes to reach. The barista walked back over, pushing the jacket into Harry’s hand. 

“Don’t want you to miss your flight twice.” Louis said quietly, giving a small smile. A dimple appeared in his right cheek, making Harry’s stomach drop out from under him. “Spike, come say goodbye to your new friend.”

At Louis’s voice, the cat’s head popped up from the loveseat and he hissed, his eyes flattening. But at the sight of Harry, Spike relaxed, leaping off the couch and bounding over to him. He wound himself around Harry’s ankles, meowing balefully. Harry stooped down, giving the animal a conciliatory pat. And then he leaned back up, looking at Louis one last time. Harry’s mouth went dry. 

“I’m your new friend too, I hope?” Harry asked, throwing all caution in the wind. Louis was silent for a moment, something unintelligible lighting up in his eyes. But then it was gone, and he nodded once. 

“O’ course.” He said, accompanied with a light laugh. “You don’t save someone’s roommate’s cat without becoming friends.” 

“I have Spike to thank, then.” Harry said softly, feeling a goofy smile spread across his cheeks. At the sound of his name, Spike leapt up on his hind paws, pawing at Harry’s knee. The movie star looked down, giving him one final scratch under the chin. 

“Goodbye, Spike.” He boomed, false bravado in his voice. And then Harry looked back at Louis, feeling his insides constrict. The barista was gazing at him openly now, studying his every movement. With a jolt, Harry realized that he was waiting for him to make the first- and their final- move. So, Harry stuck out his hand for Louis to shake. 

“Goodbye, Louis.” He said gently, fully engulfing the boy’s smaller hand in his own. His fingers were cold, but given how bony they were, Harry wasn’t surprised. He pumped the barista’s hand up and down once before dropping it, ignoring the tingling that spread through his fingers at that mere contact. And with that, Harry was walking through the door, giving his companion one final smile. As the door closed behind him, the bell jangling above his head, he just caught Louis’s whisper. 

“Goodbye…Harry.”

* * *

Louis watched as the door for _Grounds for Thought_ closed with a soft click. His eyes followed Harry as he moved down the street, being enveloped into the crowd at the end of Louis’s street. The barista walked to the window, nearly pressing his nose against it to see better. But soon enough, Harry’s figure was long gone, taking any sign that he’d ever been here with him. 

Well, maybe not every sign. 

Turning on his heel, Louis then squatted down to pick up his mobile, laying forgotten on the floor where Harry Styles had dropped it. He swiped to his photographs, taking a shallow breath before he checked if it was really there. And then Louis glanced down, eyes widening as he took in the picture. Because as distracted he’d been in the moment, Harry had been able to snap that selfie Louis asked for. 

It was a side profile of them kissing. Harry’s arm was partly in the frame, outstretched so he could take the photograph. His other hand was cupping Louis’s cheek, his thumb splayed right over his cheek bone. Louis had his eyes tightly closed, his right hand gripping Harry’s curls tight. And despite both of their mouths being interlocked, Louis could see that Harry’s was stretched into a wide smile. 

A faint _meow_ interrupted Louis’s thoughts. Spike was at his feet, his tail swaying from side to side. He looked up at the barista, green eyes almost sad. Louis could’ve sworn he was already missing their surprise visitor. 

“This,” Louis said accusatorily, raising a shaking finger to point at the cat. “Is all your fault.”

“Louis?”

Jumping nearly three feet in the air, Louis whirled around, thinking _Oh fuck, I’ve finally lost it, if the cat is talking back to me_. But as he found his balance, he clapped eyes on Liam, standing there with two mugs of hot coco in his hands and a surprised expression on his face. He smelled like shampoo and freshly laundered pajamas, which Louis guessed, he was wearing. He’d had a nice evening, in which he didn’t chase a cat in a downpour, assault his idol, take that idol home to recover, and then kiss said idol. Lucky bastard. 

“You okay?” Liam asked warily, his eyebrows nearly rising into his hairline. “You’re soaked through, and what happened your cheek?!”

Louis opened his mouth to explain, and then closed it again. He suddenly didn’t have the energy anymore, and it wasn’t like Liam would believe him anyway. He sauntered forward to his roommate, taking the mug in his left hand. Raising the drink to his lips, he took a big swig, feeling the hot liquid scald the back of his throat. 

“Spike got out.” Louis said shortly, wiping away a creamy moustache that’d accumulated on his upper lip. “I went and got him. He wasn’t too happy with me.” 

“You’re sure?” Liam pressed, his brow wrinkling together in worry. “You look weird, mate…shaken up.”

“Do I?” Louis asked airily. He walked forward, not really feeling his footfalls. Catching sight of his reflection in warped surface of the refrigerator, he saw that he had a dreamlike expression on his face. His eyes weren’t focused, looking faraway. Given how intense Louis normally was about everything, he guessed Liam had reason to be concerned. 

“Why is the first aid kit out, Louis?” Liam demanded to know. “Were you mugged?”

“What? Liam, no.” Louis replied, continuing his walk towards the flat upstairs. “Would a mugger really give me a Hello Kitty plaster?”

“Well, if you won’t tell me...” Liam said with a huff, and an eyeroll that Louis didn’t need to see to know was there. He’d almost made it, had just opened the door that separated their flat from the shop and put his foot on the first creaky step, when Liam spoke again. 

“I’ve got your phone, you secretive twat.” He called after the barista. Louis turned around again, almost giving himself whiplash in his haste. He must’ve unknowingly handed Liam his phone in exchange for the hot chocolate. Louis stumbled backwards, trying to get the mobile before Liam saw the picture. But it was too late. As Louis put a hand on Liam’s forearm, he glanced down, looking at the phone screen in confusion. 

“Did you download _another_ one of those photoshop apps?” Liam asked uneasily, looking at his roommate and quirking an eyebrow. “I always tell you they’re a waste of money, and how does cropping a picture of you kissing make you feel closer to Harry Styles? This one looks super professional though, really realistic.”

As Liam looked back down at the picture and disbelief spread over his features, Louis knew he had some serious explaining to do. 

* * * 

It wasn’t until Harry was on the flight that night he realized a few things.

He was sitting in his seat in first class, tossing from side to side as he tried to sleep. He was trying to stave off the effects of jetlag, because going to Australia was always a doozy. But every time he closed his eyes, Louis’s face taunted him. Those damn eyes seemed burned across Harry’s retinas, making him homesick for France _and_ England all at once. 

Harry sighed and tipped his head back, looking up at the “Seatbelts On” light above his head. He ghosted his fingertips across his lips, retracing the path Louis’s lips had taken hours earlier. He remembered the softness of his hair and the curve of his cheek against Harry’s palm. He remembered the way he’d tasted, like coffee and rainwater and pure sweetness. Harry sat there, remembering the best first kiss he'd ever had. And as he sat there, listening to the rattle of the flight attendants’ carts as they passed out late-night beverages, this is what Harry realized. 

1\. The first time Louis had ever said his name was as he said goodbye   
2\. The look on his face that Harry hadn’t been able to identify was practiced resignation: Louis looked like someone who was used to being left with no explanation   
3\. Harry was totally and utterly _fucked_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> French translations:  
> J’ai besoin de vous revoir- I need to see you again
> 
> S’il te plait laisse moi- Please let me


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Interviews, bars, and Twitter

Harry sat upright on the plushy red armchair across from the interviewer. He fixated a wide smile on his face as Blake Shelby, Australia’s number one TV host, looked back at him. She was stretched out languidly in a chair of her own, all long legs and voluptuous hips. The attractive blonde smiled at him with cherry red lips, looking for all the world happy to have him. But Harry could see the familiar hungry glint in her eyes, the look of a hunter. And he was prey. 

“So, Harry.” She said, giving another ten watt beam. “We’re so happy to have you here Down Under.”

The vague suggestion behind her words made Harry bite down on the inside of his cheek. As if he needed to hear _that_ joke again. Every time he came here, he was inundated with sexual innuendos. He’d heard them all, most of them from Blake herself: going Down Under, in the bush, etcetera. Eyes drifting forward slightly, he saw Simon standing behind the main camera that was focused on Harry and Blake. He stood with a small whiteboard in his hands, equipped with a dry erase marker. This was their simple method of communication during interviews, giving Harry guidelines on how Simon wanted the interview to go. Most of these had a purpose: the fanfare wasn’t just for nothing. Usually, Simon scheduled an interview for Harry to promote his newest film, or to dispel whatever latest rumor about him that’d erupted, or even to remind the public of his “squeaky clean” image. And as the interviewer peppered Harry with questions, Simon would be standing there with his steadfast whiteboard, prompting him how to continue. Unfortunately, right now Simon’s messy scrawl read: _“Just go with it.”_

“Happy to be here, Blake.” Harry said with his practiced easy smile. “I’d be happier if it wasn’t so bloody hot though.” 

At this, Blake made a show of fanning him with her hand, reaching over to pinch his cheek with her manicured fingers at the last second. Harry let her do it, ignoring how her sharp nails dug into his skin painfully. They continued like this for a few minutes, bantering back and forth in a way that the audience ate up. Harry was sure there’d be some bullshit articles all over the Internet tomorrow, about the sexual tension between himself and Blake. And sure, she was stunningly beautiful, but…Harry found that he preferred brunettes. 

“So, Harry.” Blake said, about halfway through the interview, after she’d made him try Vegemite toast for some godforsaken reason. “Your newest film is called _Oblivion_ , correct?”

“You are correct, Blake.” Harry said with a single nod of his head, fighting the urge to point out that huge poster behind him that held the movie title. He glanced at Simon, who was nodding approvingly, despite the ever present grumpy look on his face. He raised a single eyebrow at his agent before smoothing his face back into impassivity. 

“And can you give us a few details about the plot?” Blake downright purred, recrossing her legs and bringing a hand up to her neck to fondle with the diamond necklace around her throat. Conveniently drawing attention to her breasts, which Harry steadfastly ignored. 

“Well, I don’t want to give everything away.” Harry replied, reaching for his bottle of water and taking a sip. “But basically, my character is an astronaut who is the sole survivor of NASA’s first manned mission to Mars. Take from that what you will.”

Harry fought a cringe as the words left his mouth. He _hated_ the plot of this movie; he’d only taken the part under duress from Simon. It was a stereotypical blockbuster: one that somehow made loads of money despite the lackluster writing. And that was partly why Harry was involved. The director knew that if he put Harry’s face on the poster, people would come flocking to theaters to see their favorite hunk float around on a green screen. Simon had pushed for the role, partially for the paycheck it’d bring in. But also, he thought that Harry had to put out a movie like this every couple years, to keep him in public consciousness. 

It wasn’t the kind of movie Harry wanted to be making, that was all. Granted, Harry wasn’t entirely sure what kind of movie he wanted to make, so this was good enough for now. He’d thought he’d tapped into his creative outlet with _Raoul and Jules_ , and everyone knew how well that’d turned out. An Oscar-worthy performance snubbed by the Academy, hyped up into a media shit storm. And that wasn’t even Harry being vain. He’d been told by members of the Academy afterwards that they’d wanted him to receive Best Actor, but couldn’t “justify” giving him the award. 

Thinking of that night still hurt. Remembering the expectation, the nerves, only to be crushed into devastating defeat. And deep down, Harry had known his performance should’ve won. He’d put his heart into his performance as Jules, simply because the film was that close to his heart. 

_Raoul and Jules_ was a simple story, really. It was a modern retelling of _Romeo and Juliet_ , which Harry knew wasn’t the most original idea. But...they’d definitely taken some risks. Moving the setting of the film from Italy to France had been one. Making Harry’s character fluent in French and nothing else had been another. And making both characters male had been the biggest risk of all. And that was why he hadn’t won. 

He knew there were some other factors: everyone else in the cast had been totally unknown at the time. (Harry’s love interest in the film, Raoul, had been actually been played by an Australian actor called Luke Hemmings. They still kept in touch. Maybe Harry could see him after this torturous interview was over). Also, Harry had only been eighteen at the time of filming, turning nineteen a few weeks prior to the Oscars. It would’ve been unheard of, somebody so young winning Best Actor. But Harry really knew that he lost because the Academy- and subsequently, the world- hadn’t been ready to give such a prestigious award for the portrayal of a gay character. Because God forbid that was something to be proud of. 

Harry had taken a risk of his own during the filming of _Raoul and Jules_. Spurred on by the plotline of the film, by the total fervor he felt for it’s importance, by how downright ready he thought he was, he’d openly come out as bisexual. And that movie, that little indie movie that Harry wanted to be in so badly without pinpointing why, had been a major part of that acceptance process. 

Sure, Harry had kind of always known, deep inside. He’d started questioning his sexuality around the time of _Angel’s Cry_ , when he’d enjoyed kissing his female costar, but couldn’t stop his childish brain from wondering if it’d be just as enjoyable with a boy. But then, a few years later in _Raoul and Jules_ , he’d had to kiss Luke Hemmings repeatedly. For hours on end. And given how much he’d enjoyed that (like, to the point where he’d had to lock himself in his trailer and have a wank for pure relief in between takes), Harry figured he couldn’t quite ignore this side of himself anymore. He’d sat in his trailer, tears in his eyes. He didn’t have a crush on Luke, he knew that much…but he knew that for Luke, it wasn’t real. And for Harry, it was so real, it hurt. 

So, he’d done the usual thing, family and friends first. And then, he’d done the unusual thing, crafted a carefully worded Instagram caption for his millions of followers to read, giving them access into his life in a way he wasn’t totally sure they deserved. But…if reading his message about his sexuality helped at least one person come to terms with their own, then he would do it. It was that thought that gave Harry the courage to tell the world, and then he braced himself for the chaos to erupt. And erupt it did. 

There’d been the responses Harry expected, loads of females around the world bemoaning the fact that Harry Styles was suddenly impossible to date. (Which, just no. Did _anyone_ understand how bisexuality worked?) There’d been the overtly Christian groups that hated Harry out of nowhere, declaring that they wouldn’t support the showing of any his films in their towns. There’d been the men who openly lied and said that Harry shagged them in clubs prior to his coming out.   
But then…there’d been the response Harry hadn’t expected. The response of the LGBTQ community. They’d welcomed Harry with open arms, engulfing him into a type of family Harry hadn’t known existed. They sent him rainbow colored merchandize and invited him to their Pride events. They queued up for hours and hours to meet him, in whatever city he went, to shake his hand and hug him and say “Thank you”. Harry distinctly remembered one girl, who told him that reading his Instagram post had given her the push she’d needed to move out from her toxic family and in with her girlfriend. Harry still had the rainbow colored bracelet she’d given him. He wore it every day, as a silent message of solidarity, and remembered her impassioned face every time he looked at it. And stories like that were what told Harry he’d made the right decision, and he accepted the welcome of the LGBTQ community willingly. 

And after the loss of _Raoul and Jules_ , he’d needed it. 

“Earth to Harry.” Blake said with a wicked laugh, snapping Harry out of his reverie. He gave himself a shake, glancing at Simon’s whiteboard: it now read _“Pay attention!!!”_ Looking back at Blake, he gave an apologetic smile. 

“My apologies, I zoned out for a moment there, must be the jetlag.” Harry said, somewhat self-deprecatingly. “Could you please repeat the question?” 

“Anything for you, Mr. Styles.” Blake simpered, and okay, _Ew_. “I asked what parts of the film you’ll be shooting in Australia?”

“Oh, yes!” Harry said, trying to summon up some enthusiasm. “Well, my character often has flashbacks as he’s traveling alone through space, and some of the happiest moments of his life were spent in Sydney.”

“Oh, so it’s part romance?” Blake said, reading between the lines, and Harry’s silence must’ve been enough. Because yes, the already cheesy movie about a tortured astronaut needed a bullshit heterosexual love story. As if it couldn’t get less compelling. Blake giggled coquettishly, and Harry already knew what question was coming next. 

“Speaking of romance…” Blake said, her voice trailing off, and there it was. “Anyone special in your life lately?”

Harry paused, as if in thought. He took a moment to glance at Simon’s whiteboard, wondering if he’d direct him to talk about Esmerelda, the Spanish model he’d been purposefully photographed with. But to Harry’s surprise, the whiteboard simply read: “ _Give nothing away_.” 

But as he read those words, Louis’s face suddenly flashed in front of his eyes, making him pause a moment too long. Just long enough for Blake to pounce. 

“Oh, there totally is someone.” She half crowed. “Go on, spill. Is that the real reason you missed your first flight here, you naughty boy?”

“There’s no one.” Harry said firmly, struggling to do damage control. “I’m a confirmed bachelor, as ever.”

“But someone’s caught your eye.” Blake ribbed, incessantly fishing for more information, for anything that could give her show higher ratings. “C’mon, Hazza, tell us her name."

And something about that comment just rubbed Harry the wrong way. Maybe he’d been thinking too much about _Raoul and Jules_. Maybe he was tired of having his identity erased by the media. Maybe he was tired of acting straight as an arrow, both on screen and in real life. Maybe he couldn’t shake the feeling of a boy’s hand in his hair. Whatever the reason, it was the reason for what Harry said next. 

“I never said they were female, Blake.” He retorted back quickly, the words leaving his mouth before he could even think about them. 

“Oh.” Blake said, sounding genuinely flabbergasted. For the first time, she didn’t seem to know what to say. Harry could practically feel the imaginary knives Simon was currently throwing at his head. The rest of the interview passed by in a blur, Harry answering her remaining questions on autopilot. Blake kept the conversation well away from romance after that, for which Harry was grateful. Even still, Simon’s latest message on the whiteboard didn’t change for the remainder of the show: _WTF HARRY?!_

What didn’t occur to Harry was that in a tiny flat above a bookshop in Notting Hill, halfway across the world, a boy was watching the interview in the middle of the night, tracing the lines of Harry’s face with his fingertips against his computer screen. 

 

* * * 

 

“Wait, wait.” Liam said, raising his fingers to his temples and rubbing them in circles. “Go through it again, Louis, slower.”

Louis rolled his eyes, pausing to put his forehead against the counter and beat it up and down once, then twice. On the third time, a warm palm slipped in between Louis’s head and the hard plastic. Ah yes. Because they had actual company whom Louis couldn’t brain himself in front of. 

“Let it happen, Zayn.” He said, nevertheless resting his head against the designer’s hand. “I beg of you.”

Pulling himself back up, Louis looked at the two guys sitting on the opposite side of the counter to him. Liam and Zayn were side by side, close enough that their shoulders brushed. But they both seemed so caught up in what Louis was saying that having contact with Liam wasn’t giving Zayn an aneurism. Well, at least Louis supposed that the current state of his life gave Zayn some cardiac relief. 

It was Saturday afternoon, a rainy day in autumn that drove away all possible customers. Well, except one. Zayn had dragged himself here through the torrential rain to buy a dogeared copy of _The Girl from the Train_ for his mum, who was visiting next week. That was the ruse he’d given anyway. Louis knew that the designer was really here to see Liam, because he hadn’t been to _Grounds_ in nearly five days (and must’ve been going through withdrawal symptoms at this point). There’d been the usual inept flirting attempts for ten minutes, in which Zayn lamely asked Liam if he’d seen any good movies in the cinema lately. Christ, for someone as hot as Zayn Malik, Louis would’ve thought he’d have more game than that. The man was practically sex on legs, but around Liam Payne, he turned into a blushing virgin.

It was kinda cute. Nauseating, yes, but also cute. Just kinda. 

Unfortunately, the talk about movie theaters had led Liam to bring up The Incident, and then the Incident 2.0, as Louis has come to refer to both situations. Three days had passed, in which Liam still could not get over his shock that any of this was real. At this point, Louis had taken to just letting him go through the story over and over. It was downright easier. Louis chose to spend his time in more useful ways, primarily by Not Thinking About It. But every so often, he’d look at the selfie on his camera roll, considering deleting it and forgetting the whole thing ever happened. And then there was that Australian interview, which Louis still hadn’t told anyone about…

Zayn shook his head once, pushing his glasses further up his nose and giving Louis a small, kind smile. He looked _hot_ today, wearing navy jeans that left not enough to the imagination, and a black V-necked mesh top thingy that showed off his collarbones. His tattoos were visible as well, too many to count. And once in a while, he’d glance at Liam with something painfully soft in his warm brown eyes. The look was just tender enough to make Louis want to leave the room, but Liam, dense idiot that he was, didn’t seem to be noticing, too caught up interrogating his roommate for the millionth time. 

“So, Spike got out, and you chased after him, and bumped into Harry, who was holding him?” Liam prompted. Louis nodded, letting out a long, low groan. He grabbed his mug of tea and knocking some back, wishing it was something stronger. 

“Yes, and then we came back here and made tea to warm up, and I got him Advil and he put a Band-Aid on the cheek that your mongrel cat scratched, and he kept saying stuff in French, and then he was gonna go, but I asked for a selfie just to prove it happened, and we posed to take it, and then…well, then you knew what happened next.” Louis finished, an embarrassed blush on his cheeks. 

“He kissed you.” Liam said, and Louis flinched at the forcefulness of his tone. “Harry Styles, the guy you’ve been madly in love with since you were thirteen, kissed you, and you-

“I’m not madly in love with him!” Louis cut him off vehemently, wanting to plug his ears at those words. “I…appreciate him!”

“Fine, the guy you’ve _appreciated_ since you were thirteen kissed you, and you didn’t ask for his number?” Liam said incredulously. “Honest to fuck, Lou, what were you thinking?”

“I- I wasn’t.” Louis replied tiredly, pinching his nose between two fingers. He could already feel the headache beginning to build behind his eyebrows. “Everything happened so quickly and I was in shock, okay, and he’s _Harry Styles_ , he can’t just go giving his number out at random.”

“He’s right there.” Zayn piped up, pausing to twirl the wooden stirrer in his mug between his long fingers. “All it’d take is for one crazy person to get their hands on his mobile, and then it’d be everywhere, and he’d be inundated with messages from fans, and then he’d have to go through the hassle of getting a new phone with a different number-“

“He’s a multi-millionaire, I think he could afford it.” Liam scoffed. “He probably has more iPhones than we’ve pounds in our bank accounts.”

“Still,” Zayn said reasonably. “It’s the principle of the thing. Harry probably loves his privacy, and honestly, deserves it.”

Louis had to stifle a laugh as the conversation continued, because this was just so surreal. They’re referring to the biggest celebrity on the planet by his first name, tossing _Harry this_ and _Harry that_ around casually. Like he’s just some bloke they met at a club, or a worker in the bakery around the corner, or one of Zayn’s work colleagues. They’re acting as if they didn’t go into Tesco and pick up the first magazine they saw, Harry’s face wouldn’t be on the cover. As if Louis didn’t have his Styles film collection alphabetized upstairs. As if this was fucking _normal_. Louis quickly tuned back into whatever Zayn and Liam were saying before hysteria overwhelmed him. 

“Okay, he deserves his privacy as much as the next guy.” Liam said, relenting a little. “But if you like someone, you ask for their number. It’s that simple, especially if you kissed them after seeing them for the second time. Maybe Harry couldn’t give Louis his number, but he could’ve at least asked for a way to contact Louis again.”

Zayn and Louis glanced at each other, knowing they weren’t going to win this argument. Louis knew the real reason for Liam’s opinion though. He hated to think Louis was being used, in any kind of way. Especially after Louis had confided in him the story of how he’d lost his virginity, to a boy who said he cared but never contacted him after, Liam had been cagey about Louis and boys. It was just his protective instincts coming out, which Louis could understand, having four younger sisters. Personally, that’s why Louis thought Liam had always slightly encouraged his Harry Styles… _appreciation_ , because it meant Louis couldn’t actually be hurt. Except now, it’d becoming glaringly real, and Louis stood a very good chance of being hurt, and Liam didn’t like that one bit. 

“Zayn, agree with me here.” Liam said cajolingly, perhaps sensing who was the weaker touch. He might be unaware of Zayn’s feelings, but he’d been friends with Louis long enough to know who’d acquiesce faster. “For example, if _you_ fancied me, you’d ask for my number, because that’s what rational adults do.”

Zayn snorted into his cup of tea, choking on the hot liquid. Louis stared at Liam, in stunned silence. He didn’t think his roommate was being facetious, or trying to be funny, or even trying to nudge Zayn in the right direction. Liam genuinely had no idea how the designer felt about him, and had without meaning to, just chosen the worst example ever. Louis wanted to jump into his teacup and drown in it, just to escape the awkwardness that was about to ensue. 

Zayn regained some kind of control of himself. He grabbed blindly for a napkin, quickly wiping up some tea he’d accidently spit out onto the countertop. The designer glanced at Louis for half a second, and he could see the utter panic in his eyes. And then Zayn deflated, his shoulders crumpling inwards. 

“Yeah.” He said, pushing his glasses up to hold his hair back. “Yeah, you’re right, Liam. I guess- I guess I would.” 

And fuck, all of a sudden, Louis felt so bad for him. He looked so dejected, even his quiff seemed to droop. Zayn fiddled with the mug in his hands, running his nail along a hairline crack in the handle. And Liam turned back to his own drink, seeming glad he proved his point. Louis knew Liam would feel horrible if he ever knew what misery he’d just unknowingly caused Zayn, someone he considered a friend. But it wasn’t Louis’s place to explain it to him. So, he’d either figure it out himself, or Zayn would come clean. Neither of which Louis could see happening anytime soon. 

Louis stood up suddenly, going over to the coat rack and shrugging his on. Then he grabbed Liam’s sensible Northface he’d gotten from the Salvation army, and then Zayn’s leather jacket, with actual studs on the shoulder because who even is he. Tossing their coats down on the countertop, Louis jerked his chin forward as a signal for them to stand up. 

“I need a drink.” He said by way of explanation, and from the looks on both their faces, Louis knew they agreed. 

 

One sodden walk later, they arrived at _Rory’s_ , a little Irish pub at the corner of Notting Hill. It was, admittedly, a dive bar, but Louis always thought there was something charming in it’s squalor. He and Liam had been coming here ever since they moved into the neighborhood. But maybe he only had affection for the place because he and Liam were both nineteen, and still enjoying the novelty of legal drinking.

They’re seated at the bar, Louis in the middle with Liam and Zayn on either side of him. Louis was thankfully they’d settled upon this seating arrangement as soon as they’d got here. Sober Louis vacated the premises about thirty minutes ago, and Louis with four Smirnoff Ices in his system probably would’ve done something stupid, like daring Zayn to kiss Liam. 

Glancing at his companions, Louis stifled a laugh at their drink orders, because honestly, not much else can describe someone’s personality so perfectly. Louis, self-professed lightweight, stuck with the Smirnoffs, because he didn’t want this night to end prematurely and with his head in a toilet. Liam had a pint in front of him, which just _yuck_. And Zayn, classy artistic Zayn, who was more an adult than either of them, had a pale brown scotch. 

Brow wrinkling, Louis realized that he didn’t even know how old Zayn was. It briefly occurred to him to not support the Liam/Zayn cause the way he did, in case the designer was actually married with kids or something, but then he pushed that thought away. Nobody wore that much leather without being the slightest bit camp. 

God, Louis loved Smirnoff Ice. 

Dexterity already fading, Louis struggled to bring the straw of his drink to his mouth, and burst out into giddy, helpless giggles. He saw Zayn shot Liam an amused look over his head, but he couldn’t find it in himself to be annoyed. 

“Giggly drunk, isn’t he?” the designer said offhandly, raising his glass to his mouth and taking a demure sip. “Not surprising, he’s so light.”

“This is nothing.” Liam said with an easy laugh. “You should see him after a glass or two of wine. Bloody laughfest.”

“I’m sure.” Zayn said jovially. Louis pouted him, before throwing an arm around Zayn’s shoulders and putting his face into the crook of his neck. He nuzzled his nose into the warm skin there, breathing in the scent of cologne that cost more than Louis’s monthly income. Zayn had a nice neck. Why didn’t Liam like it back? Louis felt sorry for Zayn’s poor, unloved neck. 

“Cuddly too, as you can see.” Liam said, standing up. “I’m just running to the loo, can you watch him?”

Zayn nodded, disturbing Louis into opening his eyes. Liam put a hand on the small of Zayn’s back as a thank-you, before slipping away through the hordes of people in the crowded pub. From his angle on his shoulder, Louis could see how Zayn’s eyes tracked Liam’s motions, watching as he walked into the door of the gents.

“You should tell him.” Louis said suddenly, his tongue feeling heavy in his mouth. He sat up straight, looking at Zayn seriously. Or, as seriously as he could. There were currently three Zayn’s swaying across his field of vision. Louis chose to focus on the middle one and just hope he was right. Zayn was looking back at him with a quizzical expression on his face, a hint of nerves in his amber eyes. 

“Tell him what?” he asked apprehensively, taking another sip of his drink. But it was more of a gulp this time. 

“You know what.” Louis said petulantly. He made kissing motions with his face, accidently biting down on his tongue. He winced in pain and Zayn just shook his head. 

"You’re mental.”

“I’m pissed off my arse, there’s a difference.” Louis defended himself. “And ‘m not the one who buys romance books I don’t need every week.”

Zayn flushed hotly, even the tips of ears turning red with it. He shot Louis a glare, but it was replaced quickly by a look of quiet exhaustion. He took his glasses off, hooking them on the nonexistent collar of his shirt, and rubbed his eyes blearily. 

“I’m running out of space on my bookshelf.” Zayn mumbled, half to himself. He glanced at the seat Liam had vacated, his half finished beer still sitting there, and then back at Louis. He looked so hopeless, Louis went back to feeling sorry for him instantly. 

“We’d never work.” He said firmly, pressing his lips together. “For a lot of reasons.”

“Which are?” Louis asked, taking another long sip of his drink. It clung to his taste buds, the cloying sweetness making his stomach flip. Maybe he should stop soon. 

“I’m too old for him, for one thing.” Zayn said, with a bitter laugh. “Are you guys even legal, or am I committing a felony right now?”

“Heey.” Louis said defensively. “We’re nineteen. I’m twenty in three months!”

“Christ.” Zayn said, putting his head in his hands. 

“What?” Louis asked, genuinely curious now. “How old are you?”

“I’m twenty four.” Zayn replied, monotonal, as if reading a death sentence. And okay, Louis knew five years was a bit of a gap, but it wasn’t a big deal unless you made it out to be. 

“Age is but a number.” Louis slurred, flipping his hand forward in a way he hoped was graceful. “Next reason?”

“I dunno, Louis.” Zayn said, swirling his index finger in a pool of liquid on the scratched bar surface. “He’s just….too good.”

“Too good?” Louis asked, his brow wrinkling together in confusion. “What’d’ya mean?”

“Like…too sweet and too kind and just too good. And don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about, you’ve known him ages. Liam’s the kind of guy that’d climb up a tree to get an old lady’s cat down. He’d donate a kidney to a stranger, if they were a blood match. If I was in jail, I could probably call him to bail me out, even though we barely know each other and you two literally have no money.”

Here, Zayn paused, pursing his lips together. He took a deep breath, filling up his chest. The dim lights of the bar danced off his tan skin, making him seem scarily seductive. His dark eyes glinted softly in the shadows, looking desperately sad. 

“I’d wreck that about him, I know I would.” Zayn said quietly, the set of his shoulders tense. Louis fumbled to put a hand on his friend’s shoulder, rubbing it comfortingly. Because that’s what Zayn was, now. Not a customer. Not someone potentially interested in Louis’s roomie. After this conversation, he was a friend. 

“Have you wrecked something good before?” Louis asked, knowing it was a blunt, insensitive question, but not knowing how to phrase it better. Goddammit, Smirnoff. 

"I’ve never had anything good, Louis.” Zayn replied honestly, staring at Louis for a moment with a bracing look in his eyes. In his expression, Louis saw the face of a man who’d been hurt before, who’d had his heart wrenched from his chest, who’d patched himself together bit by bit, who was so scared to trust again. That made sense then, why Zayn Malik, sex on legs, became a puddle of goo around Liam. But then Zayn turned his head back to his drink, and the moment was gone. 

They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, just drinking and half watching the footie match on the television above their heads. Louis was just about to scream at the referee for not giving Man U a penalty kick for Chelsea’s downright dirty move, when Liam came back. He had a pleasant flush on his cheeks, probably from the heat of the pub, and as he settled down in his stool, he shot them a blinding smile. Next to him, Zayn gave a little whimper that Louis was going to tease him _mercilessly_ for later, and then stifled it by taking another huge gulp of scotch. Huge enough that he drained his glass, and Louis’s own drink was almost empty, and what a travesty that would be. 

“I’ll be right back.” Louis mumbled, haphazardly clambering off his seat. “ ‘Nother round, yeah?”

Zayn made another strangled noise, eyes begging Louis to stay, but he was cut off by Liam piping up with, 

“I’m not finished mine yet, Lou, don’t bother.”

“Better finish it by the time I’m back with another then, Payno.” Louis replied, beginning to push his way through the throng. “Or else I’ll drink yours, and you and I both know how well beer sits with me.”

“I could get them, Louis.” Zayn said halfheartedly, as Liam shrugged and slipped into Louis’s empty seat, closing the space between himself and Zayn. Louis just shook his head firmly, feeling his eyes glimmer. 

“Nah Zayn, you stay right there with Liam.” He said, because drunk Louis is kinda a devil, he could admit. “And remember what we talked about.” 

With that, Louis turned and walked through the crowd, wide grin on his face as he heard Liam ask, 

“What were you guys talking about while I was gone?”

“Just- just the match.” Zayn said, voice uncharacteristically high. “Total shit, innit?”

 

Deciding to take his time and let Liam and Zayn talk alone for a while (Meaning, hopefully long enough that by the time he got back, they’d be drunkenly snogging), Louis meandered forward slowly. He joined the end of a long line for the bar, ignoring the chatter of people around him, clamoring for drinks. Normally, Louis would be right there with them all, smiling his flirtiest smile at whoever could get him a free drink. But tonight, he had ulterior motives, so he leaned against the sticky back wall of the pub, shutting his eyes and trying to think. 

Because, as helpful as the drinking had been, he was still thinking about Harry Styles. Standing there, the words of the interview flickered through his mind again, almost taunting him. 

_I never said they were female_. 

That could mean anything, really. Harry could’ve just been trying to throw that Australian lady off the scent. He could’ve been gently reminding her he didn’t exclusively date women. He even could’ve just been bored with the conversation and wanted to get a reaction. Louis had seen enough interviews of Harry Styles to know that sometimes he purposefully goaded the reporters, just because he was bored with their trivial questions. But, some part of Louis couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t just that. He couldn’t help but wonder, crazily, if Harry Styles had been thinking about him as he said those words. 

Pulling his phone out, Louis did what he’d done a thousand over the past three days: went to his camera roll. He looked at the selfie again, tracing his thumb over Harry’s face and remembering the feeling of the real thing. He felt a goofy smile spread across his cheeks, his vision growing blurry. Probably from the drinking. He hoped just from the drinking. 

“I’m an idiot.” He whispered to his phone, his intoxicated brain thinking Harry Styles could somehow hear him. “A total idiot.”

Louis had just closed his phone again and was preparing to put it away when it chimed in his hand. Knowing that nobody really texted him at this hour, unless they were Liam asking if he could pick up more cat food after night class, he looked down, feeling confusion flit across his features. A notification had popped up in his rarely used Twitter app, so he opened it with his thumb. He never used Twitter, had only gotten it when he was fifteen to follow a few Harry Styles fan accounts. Immature yes, but Louis kept it anyway, as a gentle reminder of the hopeful boy he used to be. 

Eyes flicking over the app, Louis saw the source of the notification, in his “Follower Requests.” Wow, what a day. Given that Louis only had twelve followers, and maybe half of them were ghost accounts, this was quite rare. He opened the notification, already planning to hit delete on the request, when what he saw made him jolt so hard, he slammed his head back into the wall. 

_@Harry_Styles has requested to follow you_

Heart pounding in his chest, Louis squinted his eyes against the bright light of his mobile, wondering if he’d read that correctly. And yes, it was still there, the little blue checkmark next to the name and everything. This was real. This wasn’t a fake fan account. This was verified shit. 

Oh God. 

Thank the sweet Twitter baby Jesus that fifteen year old Louis had had the sense to protect his Tweets from public view. Because a quick scroll through his profile confirmed his worst fears. His last tweet had been three years ago, in which Louis so eloquently said _Watchd Harry on the Late Late Show wit James Corden 2nite…funny shit!_. And yes, all of the other tweets were along the same vein, if not worse. 

Harry Styles could _never_ see this. 

Fingers flying, Louis deleted almost every tweet on his account as quickly as he could. He sent up a silent prayer to whatever God there was that he’d gotten everything before going back to his follower requests. Pausing suddenly, Louis bit his lower lip, wondering if this was a good idea. What did Harry Styles want from him? What could he, Louis Tomlinson, possibly give him that he didn’t already have? Was this all an elaborate joke, something for Harry to pass the time with as he travelled? There was nothing Louis hated more than being laughed at. 

But then, those words were dancing through his mind again: _I never said they were female_.

“Fuck it.” Louis said loudly, drawing the attention of people around him. The girl in front of him in the line turned around, shooting him a look. Louis determinedly ignored it, staring instead at his phone. He hovered his thumb over the “Accept” button carefully, knowing he’d never drink again if his drunk hands accidently hit “Delete” instead. And then Louis took a deep breath, jabbing his thumb down before he could think anymore. 

Shoving his mobile back into his pocket, Louis ignored it as he moved forward in the drink line. He’d almost made it to the front, was just rehearsing his order under his breath so he didn’t fuck up once he had the bartender’s attention, when his phone chimed again. And he was so on edge, already felt stretched thin enough, that he completely abandoned his place in line at the sound. Liam and Zayn would just have to wait longer. But maybe it’d be good. More time for fate to intervene and conveniently toss Liam in Zayn’s lap or something. With that thought, Louis set off for the men’s room. 

Once inside the (totally disgusting) restroom, Louis locked himself in the handicapped stall, the one furthermost from the door. He gingerly sat down on the closed toilet lid, trying not to think about all the germs. And then he took out his phone again, lying to himself and saying that his hands were only shaking because of how much he’d had to drink. But their shaking only got worse as he saw that the newest notification was in his Direct Messages. 

“Fuck me.” Louis said under his breath, feeling his stomach lurch. 

_Hello, Louis….This is Harry Styles…But you probably knew that aha. Thanks for accepting my follow, btw! Anyway. I just wanted to apologize for my behavior a few days ago. It was wildly inappropriate and I’m sorry if I made you feel at all uncomfortable._

Louis raised his fist to his skull and slowly, deliberately, beat his knuckles against it. Because Jesus, Mary, and sweet Saint Joseph, what crazy universe had they entered, if Harry Styles was thanking Louis for letting him follow him. Was this the Twilight Zone? Had Louis opened the door to this loo and entered an alternate dimension in which nothing made any fucking sense?

Louis couldn’t remember if Twitter notified you when somebody read your message. Mostly because prior to this eye opening experience, no one had ever talked to him on Twitter. But he figured he better reply pretty quickly. This was just Harry going through the motions, most likely at the prompting of his agent. Somebody important had heard of what Harry had done, and realizing that they couldn’t have something like that leak to the press, they were having him apologize and effectively, swear Louis to secrecy. Not that Louis was going to tell anyone. He liked his privacy and his quiet, little life. He wouldn’t go blabbing to the tabloids. But Harry’s superiors, whoever they were, had no way of knowing that. This was pure damage control. 

**It’s no problem…it was a pretty strange night and we were both shaken up. For what it’s worth, I wasn’t uncomfortable, but I appreciate the concern. Have a good rest of your night**

Louis put his head in his hands and tried very, very hard not to hyperventilate. That is, until his phone chimed again. 

_It’s actually morning here :DDD But good, I’m glad! I think I might’ve taken a selfie at some point, any chance you have it?_

And yep, there it was. That was why this conversation had gone on at all, why Louis was being put through this utter hell. His agent must’ve wanted Harry to get ahold of Louis and have him delete the incriminating evidence of their kiss, just so there was no chance of it leaking to the media. Which Louis would willingly do, if it’s what Harry wanted, because he’s _such an idiot_.

**Yeah, I have it. I didn’t post it anywhere or anything, and i can delete it if u want, no worries. I get u wouldn’t want that floating around haha**   
_Oh no, you don’t have to delete it at all! I was just wondering if you could send it to me? I’d like to see how it turned out, I’m a bit of an amateur photographer XD_

What

_But I would appreciate it if you could keep up the good work and keep it between you and I :3_

Louis shut his eyes, letting out a defeated whimper to rival even Zayn Malik’s. He pressed the palms of his hands to his eyes, feeling the room spin. He was way too drunk for this. This was…this was mental. Here he sat, in a smelly men’s room in London, chatting on Twitter with the most famous person in the world. Chatting about “you and I”, nonetheless. As if they were some kind of unit. 

And who even was this person? How could Louis even be sure it was Harry at all, or not just an assistant logged onto his account? But…he typed the way Harry talked, all languid and slow. He didn’t have any grammatical errors, because Harry was clearly careful about English, it being his second language. And he didn’t even use proper emojis, instead choosing to type out faces straight of the 90’s, which just seemed like such a Harry Styles kind of thing to do. And before Louis could even decide his next move, what he wanted to say next, his phone chimed one more time. 

_Actually, could you text it to my actual phone number? It’d be a bit easier than Twitter for me, I get loads of notifications all at once, so it can be hard to keep track sometimes aha. Plus, the photo will turn out better quality that way u.u_

Accompanying this message was a string of numbers, that some part of Louis’s foggy brain assembled to be Harry Styles’s phone number. Louis was looking at Harry’s phone number, Liam’s words for earlier echoing in his mind: _He could’ve at least asked for a way to contact Louis again._

And here it was. 

Heart in his mouth, Louis quickly copied the number, before he could lose his nerve. He went to his Contacts and created a new one, pasting the phone number into the box. He paused before he added a name to the New Contact, wondering what to call him. Harry Styles? Mr. Styles? My Celebrity Crush? Thirteen year old Louis’s Wet Dream?

In the end, he typed out _Harry_ and saved it, shoving his phone away before he could regret it. He left the restroom and walked back to Liam and Zayn slowly, who were unfortunately, still only side by side, and not making passionate love on the bar. Pity. Louis could’ve used a distraction. 

“That whole time, and still no drinks?” Liam said with a faint laugh. “You’re even drunker than I thought.”

“Line was too long.” Louis said, slipping into the seat beside Liam. “And you’re still not finished that beer.”

Reaching over, Louis swiped Liam’s drink and pulled it over to him, ignoring Liam’s faint squawk of protest. He put his pinky finger along the rim of the glass, scooping up some of the foam and popping it into his mouth. Closing his eyes, Louis let the bitterness spread across his tongue, ignoring the heat radiating from his cheeks and the hole his mobile was burning in his pocket.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Texting. Lots of texting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly NSFW in this chapter but it's nothing crazy! Please let me know your thoughts!

Harry stood in the shower of his hotel room, feeling the steady stream of water hit his back. It cascaded down all around him, stinging his skin with its heat. With a sigh, Harry turned into the spray, closing his eyes to wet his face. He felt the tension slowly leech out of his neck and back, some of the day’s stresses leaving with it.   
It’d been a long day of shooting at the film site. He and his costar, Lily James, had spent the day been driven around various places in Sydney, acting appropriately sickeningly in love when needed. A majority of the day had been spent at the beach, the two of them splashing around in the ocean, kissing in the sand, and even doing a couple takes of them cliff diving. Harry shut his eyes as he remembered the heart lurching fear he’d felt as he flung himself off a hulking rock and into the waiting ocean. He’d been offered a stunt double, as had Lily, but she hadn’t taken it. So, not to be outdone, Harry took the leap, quite literally. 

He stood there in the shower, wincing as the hot water irritated the sunburn on his shoulders. The movie star distemperedly grabbed the shampoo and squirted some into his palm, putting it into his wet curls and massaging it through. Harry clung to his hair tightly, the citrus smell permeating his nostrils. He bit his lip hard, knowing the real reason for his bad mood. Sure, today had been hard, but Harry had left harder shoots with a smile on his face. Unfortunately, Harry’s temper was currently because a certain boy hadn’t texted him all day. Because apparently _that_ is something that affects us all, celebrity or not. 

Harry had really taken a chance this morning, was all. He was sure Simon would skin him alive if he ever found out, and he’d had to delete the entire Twitter conversation, in case one of his “social media consultants” (i.e. somebody paid to log onto Harry’s public accounts) read it. He’d psyched himself up to do it all morning, giving himself pep talks into his bowl of oatmeal. Then, he’d texted Niall to get his advice. After confiding in his friend about what happened at the bookshop and explaining his interview, Niall had been utterly gob smacked that Harry had yet to contact the barista. 

“ _You’ve clearly got a massive thing for him, mate_.” Niall had signed to him over Facetime in their respective hotel rooms last night. “ _And I know it’s complicated, because you’re you, and everything romantic you’ve ever tried with anyone, famous or not, has blown up into an explosion of shittyness, but….still worth a shot, yeah? If you like him this much?_ ” 

With his friend’s support in mind, Harry had found Louis’s Twitter, and requested to follow it. To his relief, the boy accepted it, which enabled him to begin a conversation. And right as he’d been getting makeup done for the shoot, he’d surreptitiously sent Louis his number, putting his phone away before anyone could question him. But that hadn’t stopped him from checking his mobile on every break between takes he had, scanning to see if an unknown number had popped up.   
And nothing. All day, every time Harry looked, there’d been no text from Louis. No selfie. No message even asking Harry not to contact him again. Nothing. And the movie star was trying his best not to be hurt about it. 

“Well.” Harry reasoned, wiping some soap off his forehead. “He at least hasn’t given my number to anyone else, because it hasn’t blown up yet. So, that’s one good thing.”  
Harry closed his eyes again, feeling his mouth twist into something distasteful. He gave himself a rough shake, trying to snap himself out of this funk. So Louis hadn’t texted back. So what? Harry had plenty of things to keep himself occupied, between work and promotional stuff. There were loads of lovely, gorgeous people he could surround himself with. Harry didn’t need to hear back from a barista in Notting Hill, it’s not like he’s anything special- 

Harry pressed his lips together tightly, shaking his head slowly. Because he knew, no matter how miserable he felt right now, that that wasn’t true. Louis Tomlinson was special. Harry wouldn’t have put himself in such a precarious position if he wasn’t. 

Giving a low groan, Harry stood in the water for a few more minutes, trying not to think. But it was no use. Thoughts about Louis had made him uncomfortable, feeling too big for his skin. The hot water splashed between his legs, making him gasp at the sudden sensation. Harry shut his eyes, tipping his head back and letting the water splash fully over him. He was half hard already, mere thoughts and hot water just enough to tease him. 

“Fuck.” Harry mumbled to himself. Objectively, Harry knew he shouldn’t be doing this. He knew he’d feel guilty later, but in that moment, Harry couldn’t make himself care. He was too tense, too strung out and tired, too desperate for relief. So he trailed his hand down his soapy stomach, feeling his breath hitch at the light touch. And then with a low moan he couldn’t stifle, Harry grabbed his cock, beginning at the base and starting to pump his hand up and down. 

Leaning forward and bracing one arm against the steamy shower wall, Harry bit his lip hard, imagining having Louis in here with him. He pictured everything they could do, envisioning exactly what he himself could do to Louis to make him cry out in pleasure. He saw himself kneeling down on the wet tile floor, sucking Louis off in a steady rhythm, his spit mixing with the shower water. Louis would curl his fingers through Harry’s damp curls, making him stay in place, right where he was, using Harry’s mouth. Pleasure surged through Harry at the thought, the movie star’s breathing beginning to pick up. He bet that Louis would be absolutely gorgeous when he came, all high pitched moans and sweaty, pale skin, and a heaving chest. 

It was that thought that pushed Harry over the edge, coming in his hand with a weak groan. The orgasm built in the base of his spine and then surged outward, making him curl his toes in pleasure. Harry just took a few moments to lose himself in it, shutting his eyes. The hot water of the shower was now slightly painful, splashing against his sensitive areas, but he couldn’t make himself move. 

“Jesus Christ.” Harry mumbled. “Why. Why did this have to happen.”

On leaden legs, Harry switched the shower off, then stepping out and wrapping a towel around his waist. He padded towards the mirror, already looking forward to the cup of tea and evening television that awaited him before bed. He glanced at his reflection in the mirror, almost laughing at himself. His skin was pink, starting in his chest and creeping upwards. His eyes were glassy and blissed out, his lips plump and red. He looked everything like a horny teenager. Well, he was only 21, so it wasn’t too far off the mark. 

Tearing his eyes away, Harry passed a hand down his face, wiping away the water droplets. He sauntered over to his phone where he’d plugged it in to charge, not really expecting much. Probably a million more meaningless tweets, a curt text from Simon, maybe a missed Facetime call from his mum or Gemma or Niall. 

Instead, what Harry got was an unknown number saying, 

**Hey…here’s that selfie.**

**This is Louis btw…probably should’ve started with that.**

Harry blinked a few times, feeling his mouth stretch into a wide grin. He read the text messages more than once, making sure his brain hadn’t mistranslated any of the English. Then, the biggest movie star in the world readjusted the towel around his waist, stepped out of the toilet, and proceeded to do a victory lap around his hotel room. 

* * * 

_Hi Louis! Thanks for sending me the pic!_

**No problem**

_So, what’s up?:D_

**Nm…just opening the shop. Probs gonna be a boring day…hbu? It’s nighttime where you are, yeah?**

_Yep! Just back from a long day on set._

**Oh cool…I can shut up if I’m keeping you awake**

_It’s fine! I’m still jetlagged, so I’ll be up for hours yet aha…so how’s the shop looking >_

**Empty lol**

_Oh good, we can chat properly then :)_

* * * 

“Mr. Tomlinson?”

Louis jolted in his desk, snapping his head up to meet his Psychology professor’s eyes. He was looking at him plaintively, sending a pointed look at his hands. They were beneath his desk, where he’d been tapping out a quick message to Harry. The professor gave him another hard look, opening his mouth to admonish him.   
“Glad to see you’re back with us.” He said crisply, making Louis squirm. 

“Sorry Professor.” Louis said, feeling his ears burn with a blush. He shoved his phone into his pocket, resolving himself to listening to the rest of the lecture undistracted. Which, of course, lasted about ten seconds. Because lately, Louis was constantly distracted. 

It’d been a weird few days. After finally biting the bullet and texting Harry on Monday morning, he’d expected that to be the end of it. Except, the exact opposite happened. He and Harry had now had contact every day, where they talked about a variety of things, mostly per Harry prodding the conversation along. Whenever it lagged a little, he’d asked Louis a question out of nowhere, obviously trying to get to know him. It made Louis a little bit nervous, because normally nobody stuck around long enough for that, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop responding to Harry. 

It was difficult sometimes, due to the large time difference between England and Australia, so usually they talked in either the evening or mornings. Which explained why Louis had been trying to respond in his night class to Harry’s latest question. 

_What's your family like?_

Quite possibly the most loaded question ever, in Louis’s case. He worried his bottom lip between his teeth, wracking his brains to formulate a response. Tracing his fingertips along the scratches and divots of his wooden desk, Louis then scuffed the toe of his shoe against the floor, kicking harder than he intended. Because how the fuck was he supposed to respond? He couldn’t really tell his miserable family history to Harry Styles, of all people. 

He couldn’t tell him that Louis had had a relatively happy few years of childhood, until his birth father ran off with no explanation. He couldn’t talk about the slew of bad boyfriends his mother had had as he grew up. That eventually she’d found a boyfriend, who became a husband, who became a father to Louis’s half sisters. He couldn’t tell him how he turned out to be the worst of them all. That Louis and his sisters had been left in foster care when he was a mere twelve years old.   
He didn’t want to talk about how they’d sworn they wouldn’t be split up, but who wanted to foster five children all together? How that decision led to them growing up in Homes with not enough money and shitty social workers. How Liam had shown up when they were both thirteen, unable to understand his situation, and for the first time in his life, Louis not only had four sisters to care for, but a brother as well. 

Louis couldn’t possibly tell Harry Styles that he’d left the Home when he was eighteen, and sworn to never go back. How it rankled him every day that his sisters were stuck there. How he and Liam had decided to invest in _Grounds for Thought_ to save money, to eventually adopt Lottie, Fizzie, Phoebe, and Daisy by themselves. He couldn’t make himself explain the burning desire that he had to do this right, to give his sisters the stable home they deserved, after so many years of being shuffled around. Why he pushed himself so harder every day, between the shop and class and visiting his girls and all of it. 

Honestly, as much as Louis was infatuated by him and as crazy as this situation was, Harry Styles didn’t deserve that explanation. 

Not yet, anyway. 

But Louis had to say something in response, and soon. If he didn’t, Harry would have to put his phone away from filming, losing their opportunity for communication until tomorrow morning. So, as Louis walked back from class, shoulders hunched to avoid the drizzling rain, he whipped out his phone and tapped out:

**I’m the eldest of five, got four sisters! And liam’s basically my family, at this point. Hbu?**

* * * 

**I’m the eldest of five, got four sisters! And liam’s basically my family, at this point. Hbu?**

**Omg an old guy just came into the shop and tried to steal a book by stuffing it down his trousers !!! SOS !!!**

**Liam gave Spike a different brand of food today….didn’t agree with him….woke up with vomit in MY shoes D:**

**Hey, srry I took so long respond to your last text, I was in class and I stg the prof wants me dead**

**How’s filming going btw? Nearly finished in Australia?**

**Notting Hill is so pretty in the autumn, I’ll have to take some pics and send them to you**

Harry was beginning to have a serious problem. 

Louis Tomlinson’s texts were rapidly becoming his favourite part of the day. Or night. Or whatever hour they happened to light up his phone screen. They’re what got him through the filming of the godforsaken _Oblivion_ movie. Lily was lovely, really she was, and the people on set were great, but his heart just wasn’t in it. The director had had to snap at him to put his mobile away on more than one occasion, even threatening to throw it into the ocean once. But he just couldn’t stay away. Every time his phone chimed, he got a bolt of excitement through him. Sometimes, it was the only sense of excitement Harry got through an entire day.   
The days were beginning to blur together, which was something that always happened Harry on film sets. His days were all the same: get up, film scenes, go to bed, repeat. Even as the days lengthened in Australia, every one getting hotter than the last with the promise of a glorious summer, Harry couldn’t let himself enjoy it. 

He usually found himself wanting to be somewhere else, it was a feeling he was quite familiar with. But usually, that place was France. For the first time in his life, Harry wanted to be in England. He wanted to be in Notting Hill, trawling the streets and holding a barista’s hand. He wanted to drink tea and pet an orange cat and meet the people Louis sometimes mentioned: Liam and Zayn and Mallory. But mostly, Harry wanted to talk to Louis again, face to face. The texting was great, but Harry always got the sense that Louis was holding back a bit. Like there was more to him that the movie star had yet to unlock. And the only way for that to happen would be to see him again. 

Louis’s most recent text felt like a sucker punch to Harry’s gut. He laid in his hotel room bed, rereading it over and over. He could just imagine Louis in Notting Hill, wearing a woolen sweater to combat the sudden cold snap, a complete contrast to the sweltering hot Australia days. He’d be sitting under a tree somewhere, coffee and a book in hand, watching the leaves turn beautiful colors of brown, orange, and russet red. He could see him sitting in his shop, curled up under a blanket with Spike nearby. 

Harry wanted to be with him so bad, it hurt. 

_I’d love if you sent me pictures of Notting Hill, Louis, especially if you were in them_

* * *   
**idk when you’re next in London, but if you are in the end of October….I host an annual Halloween costume party at the shop, if you’d like to swing by.**

**Okay, it’s not really annual, as this is the first year I’ve owned the shop during Halloween, but you get the idea**

**Dressing up as your fav literary character is strongly encouraged but not required :)**


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Hope you enjoy the chapter, it's a behemoth XD I actually had to split this chapter into two, so for now, here's the first half. Let me know what you think please <3

Louis haphazardly balanced on an empty bookshelf, reaching up and trying to position a string of bright orange lights. The goal was to snake them through the shelves and plug them into the socket on the wall behind the bookcase, but he’d been trying for a good ten minutes now, to no avail. 

“Here, lemme help.” Liam said, coming to Louis’s rescue. He put his cardboard box of decorations on the ground, and then grabbed the end of the lights, pulling them through the shelving. Louis sent a grateful smile his way, knowing that he would’ve given up on this whole endeavor by now, if it weren’t for his roommate. 

The Bookshop Halloween Bash, as Louis had lovingly christened it, had sprung into existence over the summer. Liam had mentioned that Louis had always loved Halloween when they were kids, but since they’d moved out from the Home last year, he hadn’t celebrated it. This, of course, was a tragedy in Liam’s good-natured eyes; a tragedy of such proportion that he’d made Louis promise to celebrate it next October. Louis had thought this meant maybe putting on some cat ears and handing out sweets to Notting Hill children (which sounds vaguely perverted, if you thought about it too much). But, like most things in Louis’s life, it rapidly devolved into Louis inviting basically everyone they knew, from class or the shop or whatever, to _Grounds for Thought_ to get wonderfully drunk. 

He’d even invited Harry Styles, for fuck’s sake, which should be a good indication of how rapidly this party had escaped Louis’s control. 

 

That had been a decision he’d made when also wonderfully drunk last Saturday, with Liam egging him on. They’d been in their flat, laying on opposite ends of Louis’s bed, steadily working their way through an ancient bottle of rum. Spurred on by the Jack Daniel’s, Louis had started talking then, telling Liam all about how he was still texting Harry and how he hadn’t expected it to continue and how downright scared he was. Liam’s advice had been to see him again, to really get a feel for Harry’s character and get to know him properly. Which was sound enough advice on it’s own, but inviting Harry to this imminent fiasco was certainly not. 

 

“Hey,” Liam said suddenly, catching sight of Louis’s face through the shelves. “Relax, yeah? He never even said if he was actually coming.” 

“Yeah, you’re right.” Louis said reluctantly. He knew this was meant to be reassuring, but Liam’s words had sent a surge of hurt through Louis all over again. Because he hadn’t heard from Harry since he’d invited him to the party. So, Louis kinda wondered why he was even stressed about it, because any sane person would’ve taken that as a resounding no. Honestly, the sane part of Louis knew that Harry was done with him, that he’d had his fun and had amused himself while bored on set. That he’d gotten to know Louis a bit and decided he knew him enough. That Louis was _insane_ for believing, however halfheartedly, that he could’ve mattered to someone like Harry. 

So why did Louis still expect to open the door tonight and see him standing there?

 

“Mallory’s coming, yeah?” Liam asked as he filled a paddling pool with water and dropped apples into it. (He’d seen something about bobbing for apples in an American movie once: Louis just let him get on with it). “Dressed as Elizabeth Bennet?”

“Yes.” Louis replied. “Even though I’m still a bit worried about Mal being here.”

“Trust me, Lou.” Liam said with a grin. “I’m sure Mallory can handle herself. She’s probably coming just to rescue Spike from us all, anyways.”

“Yeah, where is the little monster?” Louis asked with a grimace. He was still pissed about the vomit in his shoes. He’d literally been about to dump the cat on his furry ass outside when Liam swooped in and saved the day. 

“Hiding from me.” Liam replied, stifling a laugh. “I tried to put him into his costume earlier, didn’t work out.” 

Ah yes. Liam had very loosely interpreted the “literary character” costume rule, and had chosen to dress up as Batman, because he’s Liam. He’d trawled Good Will and Salvation Army and cheap Halloween stores to complete his costume: a gray sweater with a bat ironed to the chest, a black cape, tights, and a ski mask that made him look like a burglar. Louis had to admit, it looked halfway decent, but Liam wasn’t done there. He’d then found a Robin costume fit for a baby, and had spent the last week cajoling Spike to wear a yellow cape and a little black mask. So far, he’d gotten up to five seconds before the cat ripped it off. 

He’d even kitted Louis out with a costume, which had spared him a great deal of stress, but would also bring him a great deal of embarrassment very soon. Because Louis’s costume was Peter Pan. 

As in, _never grows up_ Peter Pan. As in, _hangs out with fairies_ Peter Pan. As in, _wearing moccasins, green tights, and a cap with a red feather_ Peter Pan. 

 

When Liam’s only explanation for this character choice was “You have the hair for it,” Louis honestly almost killed him. 

 

So, here Louis stood, neon green tights and all, getting _Grounds for Thought_ ready for possibly the worst party ever. And thankfully, he hadn’t killed Liam, because he was much more efficient at this stuff than Louis was. All Louis basically had to do now was stand there and dread every knock that came to the door, in case it was Harry Styles. 

“Zayn’s coming too, right?” Liam asked suddenly. He was arranging plastic cups on the countertop, but here he paused to look at Louis. Louis nodded once, his interest piqued. Liam cared if Zayn showed up, did he?

“Yeah, you invited him last time he was here, remember?” Louis responded, choosing his words carefully. “The time he bought _The Great Gatsby_.”

“Oh, yeah.” Liam said, bobbing his head up and down once. He seemed ready to let the conversation die there, but Louis would be dammed before that happened. If he was being tortured by these pantyhose, he was making Liam squirm a little. 

“Wonder what he’ll come dressed as.” Louis said nonchalantly.

“Yeah, I dunno, he seems to read a lot!” 

“Probably something dark, what do you think?”

“Yeah, I could see that.” Liam said, chuckling slightly. “Like Lestat or something.”

“I was thinking more like Christian Grey from _Fifty Shades_ , but yeah, maybe that too.” Louis said, fighting to keep his face straight as Liam very audibly choked. But his fun was short lived, because in that moment, there was a cheery _ding-dong_. Louis froze, locking eyes with Liam, who nodded at the waiting door expectantly. 

“Wanna get that?” he said gently, concern in his brown eyes. Louis bit the inside of his cheek and nodded, crossing the shop and swinging the front door open. He took a deep breath and then opened his eyes. 

“Trick or treat!” a gaggle of children chorused happily, expectantly holding out their bags. Louis stared at them with rising horror, realizing that he’d forgotten the most important part of Halloween: candy. 

It was shaping up to be a very long night. 

* * * 

_Anything_ , Louis thought to himself, _can be bearable if you have enough alcohol in your system_. 

He was currently flopped down on a couch, watching the various guests to his party mill around the shop. The place had filled up quickly after nine o’clock, when all the trick-or-treaters had finally slunk home. It was now ten, and things had really gotten into a swing. Louis, for his part, had been drinking for at least two hours, which was why he found himself laying there. But it was honestly fun to just people watch, especially considering their getup. 

Katniss Everdeen was over in the corner, shoving her tongue down Edward Cullen’s throat, which was a crossover the world really hadn’t needed. Frodo was doing belly shots off the stomach of Hermione Granger, and in the middle of the floor, there appeared to be a dance competition between Spongebob Squarepants and Mickey Mouse. 

Louis fucking loved Halloween. 

“Lou!!” Zayn said suddenly, wriggling his way to the barista’s side on the couch. He threw an arm around the smaller guy, making his Peter Pan cap fall off his head. Louis grinned crookedly: Zayn was, if possible, even more drunk that him. He’d come dressed as Harry Potter, because of course, and his Gryffindor scarf was tied around his head, obscuring the messy Sharpie scar that Louis himself had drawn on his forehead once he arrived. The sleeves of his long black robe were pushed up to the elbows, showing his tanned, muscular arms. 

“Hi, Z.” Louis said, reaching up to play with the sweaty hair flopping in front of Zayn’s eyes. “Having a good time?”

“Yes!!!” Zayn slurred, his tongue seeming too big for his mouth. “Best party ever.”

“I wish.” Louis snorted, rolling his eyes. “Mediocre at best.”

“Wanna dance with me, Lou?” Zayn asked suddenly, looking at Louis with soulful brown eyes. They were hazy from alcohol, and Jesus, how did anyone ever deny Zayn anything? Except Louis currently didn’t trust his motor function, so he’d have to find some way. 

“I’m not the one you wanna dance with, Zayn.” Louis reminded him, looking over the designer’s shoulder. Behind the couch, Liam was bobbing for an apple, his ridiculous cape getting in the way, but he laughed uproariously through it. Zayn followed his gaze, his face growing slack. He stared at Liam openly, then turned his head to look back at Louis. 

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

“He’s busy.”

“Well,” Louis said, arching an eyebrow. “Get his attention.” 

Zayn sat up straighter, running his hands down the front of his robe. He then stood up on steadier legs than Louis expected, looking oddly determined. Pushing his shoulders back, he walked around the couch and over to the counter of _Grounds_. 

Louis had honestly expected Zayn to just tap Liam on the shoulder and talk to him. What he did not expect was for Zayn to step up on the countertop of the shop and begin to dance. In that moment, it seemed like Fate was truly on Zayn’s side here, because Louis’s iPod chose right then to play the song “Pony”. 

Eyes widening, Louis watched as Zayn slowly began to unbutton the top of his robes, going until his navel. His chiseled chest had a sheen of sweat and he wiped his hand down it, looking positively feral. Louis could see from here that Zayn was literally only wearing boxers beneath his costume, and fuck, seeing Harry Potter strip should not be as attractive as it was. 

Speaking of boy wizards, it was like a spell had been cast over the party-goers. Everyone stopped whatever debauchery they were up to and stared at Zayn. Some guys whooped, quickly averting their eyes, whereas loads of girls looked ready to rip off their costumes and join in with Zayn. But the man himself only had eyes for Batman. He was staring Liam down, biting his lip as he continued to remove his robes. 

_I'm just a bachelor, I'm looking for a partner, someone who knows how to ride, without even falling off_ Louis’s iPod blared out, and yeah, those lyrics were surprisingly apt. Especially because Zayn had chosen this moment to untie his Gryffindor scarf and quite literally grind it between his legs. 

Thank God Mallory was upstairs with Spike, because Louis’s two customers would never be able to look at each other after this. Louis took a moment to look at his roommate, to see how he was handling all of this. Liam was staring at Zayn in shock, his eyes as wide as saucers. A pink blush was creeping up his face, going from his neck all the way to his ears. But poor Batman didn’t seem capable of tearing his eyes away. He was still holding an apple in his left hand, having seemingly forgotten it was there at all. 

Just as Zayn had reached the final button of that godforsaken robe, the doorbell rang once again. Louis ignored it, not wanting to miss a single moment of this future blackmail, but when it chimed one more time, he hauled himself to his feet. Grumbling under his breath, he went against the tide of people watching The Boy Who Stripped. After several arduous minutes, he made it to the front door and pulled it open. 

“We’re out of candy, if that’s what you’re after.” Louis said distemperedly, readjusting the feather in his hat. 

“Damn.” An all too familiar voice said, suppressing laughter. “I guess you’ll just have to do.” 

* * * 

Louis’s eyes flew open. Harry Styles was standing on his front step, beaming up at him. But he wasn’t alone. Accompanying him were two other people. One was a burly, tall man, maybe a- a _bodyguard_? The other was someone else Louis recognized from his tabloids; Niall Horan, deaf model and Harry’s best friend. 

“I- I didn’t think you were coming.” Louis said dumbly. “Or- or bringing…friends.”  
“Didn’t you get my text?” Harry said, a frown marring his happy features. When Louis shook his head, he whipped out his mobile and then groaned. 

“Oh fuck it all, it didn’t deliver. Damn Australian cell service, can’t be relied upon! And here I was, thinking you didn’t want to talk to me all week.”

Hearing that Harry Styles had been waiting for Louis to text him back made Louis’s already drunk head spin even more. He smiled weakly, feeling helpless. His eyes flicked back and forth between Harry’s companions. The body guard stared straight ahead, the set of his shoulders tense. Niall, however, met Louis’s gaze, his eyes cool. Not a trace of emotion crossed his face, but Louis felt sure he was silently judging him. 

“I’m Louis.” He said in Niall’s direction, and then felt like ramming himself into the doorframe because of course, Niall couldn’t hear him. Niall gave a nod though, reaching his hand out for Louis to shake. He seemed to be dressed as Harry Potter also, and Louis silently prayed that Zayn was finished making a spectacle of himself. 

“This is Paul.” Harry said easily, gesturing at the behemoth of a man to his left. “Niall’s usual bodyguard and my borrowed one, for tonight….he was the only way we were allowed come.”

“Right.” Louis said with a crisp nod, trying to pretend this was something he heard daily. “Well, come on in.”

The three men then walking inside, Paul quickly stationing himself right by the door. He stood with his hands behind his back, surveying the entire room. He looked at Harry and Niall quickly, and then jutted his chin forward. 

“Go ahead, lads.” Paul said, betraying a gruff Irish accent. “Nothing looks too risky, but I’ll be right here if you need anything.” 

“Class, Paul, thanks so much!” Harry said with a grin. The body guard gave a tight-lipped smile back, the muscles necessary for smiling looking stiff from under-use. Niall gave another nod, glancing at Harry and quickly saying something in sign language. Louis hurriedly averted his eyes, not wanting to butt in on a conversation, even if he couldn’t understand it. And then Niall walked away, sauntering over to the shelf where a makeshift bar had arisen. Louis and Harry were alone. 

Louis turned to look at him directly, feeling his knees tremble. Harry was beaming at him, his dimples in full force. His skin was a deep brown color, tanned from the weeks in Australia, and his brown curls formed a halo around his head. He wore a long grey trench coat and some weird kind of blue boots that went up to his knees  
Louis suddenly felt very, very overwhelmed. 

“Hello.” He said dumbly, feeling his face pinken. 

“Bon jour.” Harry said with a graceful incline of his head. “It’s lovely to see you again.” 

“Th-thanks.” Louis tripped over his words, fighting a curse. But Harry simply grinned at him, reaching forward and grazing his fingertips along the red feather of Louis’s hat. 

“Peter Pan, eh?” He asked, a hint of mischief in his voice. “Suits you.” 

“Are you Sherlock Holmes?” Louis asked, gesturing a hand at Harry’s coat. “With the jacket and everything?”

“Oh, no, this was just to stay incognito on the way over.” Harry said, with a dismissive shake of his head. “My real costume is underneath, mind if I hang this up actually?”

“Go for it.” Louis replied, nodding his head to the overflowing coat rack. Harry turned on his heel and strode over to it, long legs eating up the floor beneath them. Louis watched his back as he unzipped the trench coat, pulling it off his broad shoulders and hanging it on the last hook. And then Harry turned back around, and his costume convinced Louis that somehow, tonight had gotten better, but also so much worse. 

Harry had morphed into Wonder Woman. He wore a bright red metal corset, clinging to his hips and torso. Despite the lack of cleavage, it accentuated Harry’s broad chest, drawing attention to his pectorals and the deep V of his collarbones. On his legs was the matching metal blue skirt. It barely went past his mid-thigh, showing off the thick muscles of his legs. Louis swallowed hard, watching as Harry rummaged through his jacket pockets. The movie star then pulled out the silver wristlets and headband, slipping them through his hands and pushing back his curls. As he looked back up, he caught Louis’s eye, grinning devilishly. He’d without a doubt felt the barista’s stare. 

“I know she’s not quite a literary character, but I made a deal with a friend.” Harry said jovially as he sauntered back over. He came to a stop beside Louis, putting all his weight on one leg and resting his hand on his hip. Louis felt himself look Harry up and down, taking a few moments to just take in every inch of his golden skin. 

“Which friend, Gal Gadot?” Louis said sarcastically, unable to stop himself. He raised his head to meet Harry’s eyes, and for once, he didn’t blush. Because Harry was looking at him like he’d won the fucking lottery. 

“No, it was actually Niall’s idea. But Gal would love this! Remind me to take pictures for her, yeah?”

“Sure.” Louis replied, because yeah, Harry Styles did know Gal Gadot. Of course he did. “Want me to take one for you right now?”

“No, there’s something I’d rather do first, if that’s okay.”

“What’s that?” Louis asked, feeling his stomach lurch with instant nerves. 

“Say hello properly.” Harry said. 

With that, Harry stepped forward, putting his arms around Louis and pulling him into his chest. He enveloped him into his embrace, putting a hand on the back of Louis’s head. Louis was stiff for a few seconds before he relaxed, leaning his cheek against Harry’s pectoral, the metal of his costume digging into his skin. His body was radiating heat, and Louis could feel his heartbeat against his cheek. 

Harry absentmindedly played with the wisps of hair at the base of Louis’s neck, putting his chin on the top of the barista’s head. Louis took a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself. But this didn’t do any good, because he basically inhaled lungfuls of Harry’s cologne, which sent his pulse soaring again. 

“Lou.” Harry mumbled suddenly, slightly pulling back from the hug, but keeping a firm grasp on Louis’s elbows. He looked down at him, his features burning with intensity. 

“Louis, I really- “ he tried again. The movie star broke off once more, pressing his lips together tightly. He shook his head a few times and let out a breathy chuckle, seeming to be laughing at himself. 

“Louis…”

* * * 

“Louis!”

Harry jerked his head to the side, catching sight of Batman striding towards him. He hurriedly released the barista, feeling his heart thud against his ribs. His body was suddenly cold at the loss of Louis’s body heat, his arms feeling woefully empty. Louis looked at Harry quickly, giving him a wavering smile. And then he was breezing toward whoever approached, carrying himself with an agile strength Harry didn’t know he possessed. He tried to tear his eyes away from the sight of Louis’s shapely thighs in those green tights, but he didn’t quite manage it. 

_I should not have come_ Harry thought desperately, feeling panic flicker through him without the barista at his side. There were so many people here, and he or Niall were undoubtedly going to be recognized. They’d purposefully come later in the evening, so some people would’ve left the party and those remaining would’ve drank enough to believe that he was just an extreme Harry Styles doppelganger. Harry nearly had to sacrifice his limbs to attend this party. It’d taken days of wheedling with all his agents, lying and saying it was a small London get-together of celebrities that wanted to celebrate Halloween without paparazzi. Then, the lying had extended, because Harry was only allowed go if someone else high-profile went with him. Because that made total sense. 

Obviously, the only choice for that was Niall. So, then Niall had gotten his bodyguard Paul involved, who had been with him so long that he was basically family, and here they were. And the only thing Niall had required Harry to do was dress up in Wonder Woman drag. Really, a small price to pay, even if this metal skirt was driving him mad. Except, now Harry was only aware of how many things could go wrong. He’d be papped here and then Louis’s privacy would be destroyed and it’d be a big scandal and then the barista would never want to see him again and he really needed to go. 

That’s what Harry honestly should’ve said just now: _Louis, I really need to go_. Instead of everything he’d been trying to say, but couldn’t. 

_Louis, I’ve never seen anything cuter than you in that Peter Pan get-up_

_Louis, I feel so overwhelmed by you_

_Louis, I’d give anything to kiss you right now_

_Louis, I have missed you_

Harry may be an actor, but in reality, he couldn’t deliver a line. 

Harry was forming the words in his mouth, gearing himself up to leave. He practiced them under his breath, first in French and then in English. And then he looked back up, and at the sight of Louis walking back toward him, those words died in his throat. 

“Harry.” Louis said, raising his voice to be heard over the pounding bass. “This is my roommate, Liam.” 

“Hello.” Harry said, trying to keep his voice even. He hurriedly extended his hand for Liam to shake. Liam took it, giving him a friendly smile. But Harry could see a lot of other emotions churning beneath the surface. There was nerves there, because oh yeah, Harry forgot that sometimes he intimidated people. There was also a hint of disbelief in his eyes, because maybe part of Louis’s roommate thought he really was just a Harry Styles lookalike. But underneath everything else, Harry saw something that made his own stomach clench with nerves. 

There was a trace of hostility in the determined set of Liam’s jaw. And the way he was now looking at him, with calculating eyes and his mouth pressed into a thin line, something became very clear to Harry: Liam didn’t care who he was. If he hurt Louis, he’d have Liam to answer to. 

“It’s really you, then?” Liam said, grinning widely as they shook. The look he’d given Harry disappeared as quickly as it’d come. “Good thing too, I thought I’d have to commit Louis here.” 

“It’s- it’s nice to meet you.” Harry replied. “I see we have a similar appreciation for DC Comics.”

“Aww yeah, sick mate!” Liam said excitedly. “Marvel gets too much credit, DC is where it’s at.”

“I dunno, _Guardians of the Galaxy_ was a religious experience for me.” Harry countered, feeling himself beginning to loosen up a little. But maybe that was just from the gentle hand Louis laid on the small of his back. 

Harry desperately tried to ignore the bolt of electricity that shot up his spine at Louis’s simple touch. 

* * * 

About an hour and a couple drinks later, Harry found himself locked inside a closet with Niall. 

He did have a reason for this, to be fair. Niall had slunk over from his place in the corner, mentioning that he needed a bathroom and asking if Harry knew where it was. He looked bored out of skull, which Harry felt a twinge of guilt for. Niall generally avoided places where he couldn’t have a translator, and a party like this definitely wasn’t optimal for him having a good time. Purely because he couldn’t talk to anyone. 

The two celebrities then set off through the shop looking for the rest room. They didn’t want to ask anyone, because that was simply inviting people to notice them. Harry had thought he’d struck gold when he found an unlocked door in the very back of the shop. They went in, Harry pulling the light string above his head and shutting the door at the same time. But the weak lightbulb above them illuminated the space to reveal a broom closet full of cleaning supplies and musty blankets. 

“Shit.” Harry swore, jiggling the doorknob up and down a few times. Niall glanced at him, his eyebrows raising above his hairline. A crooked grin spread across his lips, and he shook his head a few times. 

“ _Well, we have some time to talk now, at least._ ” Niall signed. “ _How’s it going with Peter Pan out there_?”

“Jesus, Niall.” Harry gasped, brining Niall’s fingertips to his lips so he could decipher his words; Harry’s hands currently weren’t steady enough to sign his answer back. “He’s so lovely. So fucking lovely, and his roommate Liam is looking at me like he’ll kill me, and he’s wearing _neon green tights_ -“

Niall started to laugh silently, his shoulders shaking with his mirth. He bit his lip, looking at Harry with his blue eyes twinkling merrily. 

“ _You’re fucked, Hazza_.”

“I know, Niall!” Harry groaned. “I fucking know!”

Their conversation was interrupted by the creaking of the closet door. Niall and Harry looked at it in abject horror, matching expressions of shock spreading across their faces. And then Harry had his hands on Niall’s shoulders, shoving the model in front of him. 

“Hide me, Nialler, please hide me, what if it’s Lou.” Harry garbled, forgetting Niall had no way of knowing what he said. Niall blindly reached for his face, trying to feel his lips. But he accidentally poked him in the eye, making Harry stumble backward. Harry’s foot got caught up in a mop laying on the floor, and he dropped to his knees, landing with a painful thump. And in that instant, the door swung open, and Harry heard Liam say, 

“There’s extra paper towel here, Lou…”

Liam’s words trailed off as he took in the scene before him, folding his arms over his chest. Harry felt his blood run cold as he realized what this must’ve looked like: he was literally locked in closet with Niall, eye level with his crotch. Harry looked up at Liam, his mouth gaping uselessly. 

“We were looking for the toilet.” He offered pathetically. 

“Right.” Liam said coolly, with a curt nod of his head. “We haven’t got one in the shop, but there’s one upstairs, if you’re that desperate.”

With this, Liam turned and left again, leaving the door wide open behind him. Harry stumbled to his feet, racing out and nearly colliding with the doorframe in his haste to reach Louis first.


End file.
